


Shadow and Flame

by Officer_Jennie, raendown



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/pseuds/raendown
Summary: Tobirama, nyx, High Prince of Konohagakure. Madara, phoenix, captain of his royal Highness's personal guard. They know the world - and more importantly Tobirama's father, High King Butsuma - would look down upon their relationship should they ever be discovered but theirs is a love that cannot be denied.One is content to stay safe in the shadows. The other waits for the day when they can stand together before the world with their heads held high. Both of them know they cannot keep this secret forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is written RP style with each colored font depicting the view of a certain character and each character written by a different author. 
> 
> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown

The wind brushing over his skin is warm. Tobirama closes his eyes to enjoy it, strange so late in the season, before opening them again to look out over the lake. This time of night the stars have a way of reflecting in the waters so brightly he is tempted to cover his eyes sometimes yet never does, is never willing to give up so much as a moment of their beauty. It’s a sight that he is sure cannot be found in any other land but the one he calls his home.  
Footsteps approach behind him but Tobirama keeps his eyes forward. He knows what he will see if he turns around and he’s not sure if he can keep the laughter off his face if he has to see what he is sure will be Madara’s grumpiest frown - especially not if he also sees the man’s dark hair still so windswept from earlier. Air sprites are always mischievous. As Captain of Tobirama’s personal guard and a man who has served with all different races over the years, Madara should have known better than to accept an air sprite as his Lieutenant if he was going to continue growing his hair out so long.  
“You’re late,” he murmurs instead, leaning back ever so slightly in to the warm body that stops just behind his own, close enough that no one could possibly mistake the nature of their regard for each other. He watches the starlight dance over calm waters and thinks to himself how lucky they are to have found this private little cove. It’s a bit far from the castle for a night time journey but it’s worth every step just to have some Fae-forsaken privacy. 

It had taken Madara longer than usual to skirt his duties. With his first priority having supposedly retired to his quarters for the night all of his other duties that fall to the wayside during the day had required his attention: planning guard shifts, signing off on the training regimens, triple checking the backgrounds of the new recruit candidates. There are only so many times his Lieutenant will take over from him and today has shown just how irritated she’s become with him as of late for having to do his duties. His cheeks still feel raw from the blast of wind that had nearly knocked him on his arse.  
Most of his frustration melts away at the sight waiting for him. Starlight shining off the calm water, his prince ethereal and glowing. A lifetime of training is all that keeps him vigilant as he approaches, the desire to drown in the moment tempting but dangerous.  
It’s only when he’s certain they are alone that he gets close, hesitating still to touch the nyx before him. Ever the stickler for punctuality, Tobirama doesn’t let his lateness slide. Madara huffs as Tobirama leans back into him, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull him closer.  
“Not my fault.” He leaves it at that, not wanting to mention just how difficult it’s becoming to sneak off like this. There isn’t anything Tobirama can do to make it easier anyway and tainting the precious little time they have together wouldn’t be worth the small amount of catharsis complaining would give him. Instead he rests his sore cheek on the cool silk in front of him, closing his eyes while keeping an ear on their surroundings.

It’s warmer with two phoenix arms around him, almost enough so that Tobirama might pretend it were still summer if he were so inclined. But he rather likes autumn, likes the colors and the cooler temperatures, likes seeing the harvests come in and the way his father’s people come together to make the work easier. Autumn has always been a time of togetherness. Why should it be any different between him and the one he holds most dear?  
Madara’s grumbled words make him smile a little wider. He’s glad he hasn’t turned around yet; it won’t do for Madara to see his amusement and start a fuss. They always have so little time together and Tobirama is loathe to ruin it even for the enjoyment of poking fun at the man.  
He does that enough during the day anyway.  
“I suppose I can forgive you just this once,” he says. They both know it’s a useless white lie. He will forgive Madara every wrong in the world just to have another quiet moment like this one. “Will you hold me a little tighter? I’m cold.”  
Another lie that neither of them will speak to. He tells a lot of lies for Madara but he will tell a thousand more to keep his beloved safe and close.

At his request Madara settles them both on the ground, Tobirama tucked into his lap. The dirt this close to the lake is always moist enough to stain his uniform; he makes a mental note to wash it then pushes it to the back of his mind. Yet another thing he’ll leave his future self to worry over.  
Not that he wouldn’t normally gripe about it anyway, what with the roots digging into his backside and the bark pulling his hair when he moves. It just so happens the nyx seated in his lap makes all those nuisances very easy to ignore for the moment.  
And those damned tight pants Tobirama wears everywhere make it very difficult to keep his hands to himself.  
He only just manages to check himself, wrapping his arms tighter to keep his hands busy and out of trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gotten frisky here but tonight doesn’t feel like the right time for that. For now all Madara wants is to bask in his presence, to let the warm body pressing against his chest melt the tension out of his shoulders and mind. The gentle lapping of water and the warm breeze help soothe his muscles further, letting him relax and let his mind still. Better to enjoy this now since it might be awhile before he can sneak off like this again.  
The reminder brings all the stress and tension right back, teeth grinding in frustration. He does his best to force himself to relax, not wanting to break the peace or be the bearer of bad news yet. With any luck Tobirama won’t have noticed and they can continue on in quiet for a little longer.

Madara’s body is tense underneath him and Tobirama wants to sigh. Not for any sort of disappointment in his partner but for how tired he is too. They’re both tired of this. If not for his father they could walk like this in the light of day without fear and for a moment Tobirama let’s himself picture it.  
The first thing he would do is dip Madara in the center of the throne room, bend him backwards for a kiss and let all those hoity toity brainless idiots gape at them, powerless to stop it. Probably the second thing he would do is flip his father the bird - although that may get him arrested despite his own rank. Being a prince is great protection against many things but it is no protection against the High King. Tobirama can’t wait for the day his father passes the throne along to one of his heirs. His reign has only lasted a few decades, a short span of time for someone with their typically long lives, but already it is clear that most follow him out of duty more so than any particular loyalty.  
He is High King by birthright, by ancient laws that few would dare betray. There are no laws that say anyone has to like him.  
Squirming a little, Tobirama gives in to the urge and releases a small sigh.  
“If you tense any more you will bounce me straight off of those tight thighs of yours.” Which, in any other context, would sound like a very good time, he has to admit. A smirk touches his lips as he listens to Madara spluttering. 

That mental image does nothing for his self control. Flashes of delicious taut muscles send a shudder through him and he knows all too well how perfect his lover would look riding him, outlined by starlight.  
It will never cease to amaze him how easily Tobirama can allude to such things - for a high born he certainly has a mouth on him. He gives up on spitting out any coherent response, squinting at the back of Tobirama’s head while muttering. Just to be sure his prince didn’t get any bright ideas he shifts the man forward a bit, giving a certain overly excited part of him a chance to breathe and calm itself.  
At least it has taken his mind off other matters. Loathe as he is to admit it, though Tobirama’s snark is irritating at times it often finds a way to ease his worries. Sometimes the small, simple things are all that can help him with the overwhelming pressure of both his professional and love life. The way the plum trees always bloom first in the courtyard, having breakfast with his brother outside the barracks every morning. That sharp tongue of Tobirama’s, always ready to dish out sass or leave him speechless.  
How he always smells of ink and scented oils long after a bath, like now, skin pale as moonlight and hair a soft silver in the dim night air.  
“Gods, but you’re beautiful.” No matter how many times he might hold this man in his arms it never quite makes sense to him, never quite feels real. Perhaps if he were a poet he could put his feelings to words but he has never had much patience for learning such an art.

“And you are...shut up.” Tobirama glares out over the lake. Years of etiquette classes and he still has no idea how to respond when Madara says such things. Give him simpering nobles with false compliments, give him commoners with praise dripping like water from their lips, give him anything else and the words flow easily. He has been raised in the royal court, of course he knows how to turn any compliment to his advantage.  
Except, it seems, when it is spoken in Madara’s earnest tones. Ironic considering how easily he speaks his carnal desires whenever they have the chance to sate themselves in a hurried rush before returning to their respective duties without being caught. He maintains that true emotions are different, that the vulnerability of them will always be more difficult. Everyone likes sex, after all, and it’s all too easy to turn the tables on his partner then.  
Reaching out with the one hand not splayed over both of Madara’s, Tobirama calls to the lake and bids her to lend him some of her water. She does so without fuss, a perfect distraction until he forgets his embarrassment, letting a small stream of crystal clear water dance between the gaps of his fingers and watching the light of the moon reflect in the palm of his hand. Only when he has nearly lost himself in the play does he finally settle back in to Madara’s chest once more.  
“I missed you today,” he murmurs, sending the eager little stream twisting in to the air to make shapes for both of their amusement. “I despise your trainings days.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his snickering, amused as ever by how easy it is to fluster his partner. Deciding to be gracious enough not to further embarrass him, he lets himself get distracted by the dancing water, intertwining their fingers once Tobirama relaxes back into him once more.  
Like always, the peace is stolen by his duties. He manages to hold back a groan though only just, leaning his head back against the oak and staring up at the stars, tracing the constellations he recognizes. Luck has never particularly enjoyed his company and today seems to be no different.  
“The new recruits are coming tomorrow. I’ll be training them for at least the rest of the week.” Trained as Tobirama is at keeping his emotions in check, Madara can still feel the irritation coming off of him. In hopes it might ease the impact of his news he rubs his free hand overtop his lover’s thigh. “Lieutenant Yagai’s not been too happy taking over for me so frequently lately. It might be best not to meet here so often anymore.”  
It feels as though only a month has past since they last had to cut the frequency of their private meetings. Just the thought of doing so again so soon leaves a foul taste on his tongue.

It can’t be helped but still Tobirama wrinkles his nose with distaste. Here he is free to think what he wants, _feel_ what he wants, but what he truly wishes for is the freedom to be in love just like everyone else in the world is. He’s never been able to fully wrap his head around why he isn’t allowed that.  
So what if Madara is ‘low born’? It shouldn’t matter. He’s never understood what factor classifies the phoenix race as low born anyway.  
Their particular usefulness on the battlefield and the front lines of war, probably. Can’t have the high born folk dying so easily.  
“Father sent word that he wishes to speak to my brothers and me tomorrow so be prepared for the possibility of a surprise ‘security briefing’. I may need to work off a little stress after dealing with him.”  
He can feel Madara shifting underneath him, probably intrigued and irritated in equal measures. They’ve used that excuse in the past to lock themselves away in his private rooms for hours at a time, though it’s not something they can use too often without garnering suspicion. Probably his lover doesn’t appreciate the thought of being distracted from his duties but Tobirama finds that he can’t spare any thought for that. Whatever it is Butsuma wants will probably leave him seething with anger as usual and Madara is one of the only things that helps to calm him.  
There’s a reason the king sends summons to fetch his children for meetings rather than come tell them himself that he would like to speak with them. Butsuma needed heirs for his throne and so he fathered them. His work was done after that, apparently. Tobirama cannot recall a single time in his life that he thought of the man as anything more than his King. He does know that he was at least four years old before he realized that being a prince made Butsuma his father; until then he honestly hadn’t known there was any sort of familial connection between them. Certainly there was no love lost.  
“Hashirama seems excited, at least. After all this time I think he still clings to the hope of us all sitting down to become a perfect loving family.”  
A snort escapes him that he doesn’t try to hold back. The very thought is as amusing as it is saddening. 

“Didn’t we have a ‘security briefing’ a few weeks ago?” The complaint is muttered under his breath, though part of him wants to slap himself for complaining at all. They both know he will be there, no matter if it means he’ll be working late, long past sunset again. He only bothers to complain at all in the vain hope that Tobirama will start to take his job more seriously. Guarding the most precious person in all the kingdom is nothing to scoff at, after all.  
He slumps forward, letting Tobirama hold his weight up. Irritation aside, he knows his work is not trivialized. Speaking with the king simply puts his prince in a foul mood. Hell, the man can put even the most patient of saints in one given an hour or two.  
Not like he won’t enjoy himself anyway. When in desperate need of a distraction, Tobirama has a habit of being extra commanding. A more scientific man might make some hypothesis about him needing to be in control but Madara finds trying to connect the dots to analyze his lover’s behavior much less enticing than that smirk that always sends his blood racing, the knowing smugness when he follows his prince’s orders with zero hesitation.  
That line of thought cuts off quickly at the mention of Hashirama and Madara nearly snorts with him at the ridiculous notion that the king could want anything more than to discuss politics with them. His continued bafflement at their relationship is all that stops him. Or, rather, their _lack_ of one. His own father had certainly been no saint but he’d been a father in his own right at the very least for the few years he’d known him. Having no time for one’s own children speaks volumes of one’s character and the thought alone curls Madara’s lip in distaste.  
Fathers have always been a touchy subject, filled with too many land mines that can set Tobirama off. Even if the anger wouldn’t be directed at him, Madara doesn’t want to go there, least of all at their private cove so far away from their daily troubles.  
“If the high prince gets any more air in that head of his, he could join the eagles in their flight patrols.” It had taken a decade of working as a guard to convince Madara there was any relation between Hashirama and the king and another before he believed the prince to be a true direct descendant instead of a nephew or cousin. How such an honest to the gods _detestable_ man can have had any part in making the walking epitome of ‘dream big’ is a mystery that no doubt stumps even the Fates. Add in to the mix how the youngest prince lives with his head in the clouds, utterly oblivious, and Madara’s former ‘switched babies at birth’ theory only seems all the more plausible.  
One thing’s for certain, at least: he does _not_ envy either Hashirama’s or Itama’s guard. He’ll take his own prince over them any day of the week.  
Or night. Or evening, really. The time of day matters little with those pretty fingers tangled deep in his hair.  
Not that he should be thinking about that now. He sends a brief but firm message down south to abort mission, focusing on the owls he can hear calling in the distance, the smell of wet earth and clean water, the root still doing its best to burrow into his ass cheek - _anything_ to keep his mind off the promise of a ‘debriefing’ coming his way tomorrow.

His lover is thinking about changelings again, he can tell that even without looking back. If Tobirama hadn’t been so close with their mother before she passed he has to admit that he would give some credence to those rumors himself. As much as he loves all of his brothers there is definitely something that sets Hashirama apart from the rest. There is something almost unnatural in the sheer positivity he carries with him at all times, the absolute brilliance of his smile and how he bestows the light of it to all and sundry, something that the rest of the four brothers have never quite been able to match.  
Not that Tobirama can say much. It isn’t as though he has a lot in common with the rest of them either, though that hasn’t stopped them from loving him yet. In some parts of his family, at least, he considers himself very lucky. Most, actually. Though it’s been a few years since he spent a significant amount of time with his brothers he knows he would still shift heaven and earth for them if they needed him to and he will probably never forgive whoever matched a woman as sweet as his mother with a monster like Butsuma.  
Unsurprisingly, even thoughts of his more affable family members isn’t enough to set aside the worry that’s been simmering inside him all day since his father sent word of their upcoming meeting. It’s more insult that irritation that even here in the little private world they have built for themselves Butsuma can still affect them. Wanting the mood back to pleasant, back to the closest thing to carefree they are ever able to manage, he casts about for something lighter to say.  
“Shall we guess at what he wants?” he offers, feeling the stress of tomorrow pulling at him despite his efforts to forget and relax in to Madara’s arms. Perhaps humor will take the edge off. “I’m thinking he’s come up with a new law: no one is allowed to breathe without his permission anymore. We’ll all have to carry around permits with his seal and signature and woe be to the idiot who doesn’t have theirs signed when they dare to stand in his presence.”

“What, no air tax as well? His illness is making him soft.” The thought alone has him snickering, though it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say it’s a legitimate possibility. Not even someone deep in denial could doubt Butsuma’s cruelty and one of the king’s favorite hobbies seems to be reminding those ‘lesser than him’ of their ‘place’ in his world.  
As if blood or station really determines one’s worth. He can name a dozen common folk more worthy of his respect than the king.  
“My guess is Hashirama spoke to a maid again. Can’t have his sons being decent to ‘the help.’ Or anyone without a stiff collar or stuck-up nose.”

Tobirama snorts. Tries to pretend that statement is more amusing than sad. He can remember the last time Hashirama was spotted getting chummy with the staff that cleans his room for him every day and he’s fairly sure that poor young girl was relieved of her head as punishment. Just another reason that encourages him to be careful of his relationship with Madara.  
“If it has anything to do with you,” he whispers, “I may just commit treason.”  
Hiding their relationship is one thing; it hurts and it’s difficult but it’s something they can both live with until such time that it is safer for them to come out of the shadows. Losing Madara is not an option. Should Butsuma give him so much as a hint that he may have caught wind of the secret under his nose - well. Tobirama knows it’s several different shades of wrong but it hasn’t stopped him from carrying a blade concealed on his person to every meeting with his King in the last several months.  
And if that doesn’t say something about the level of tension in the Court these days then he doesn’t know what will.  
Still, he is more than prepared to use it should the necessity ever arise. If it ever comes down to a choice between his king and his heart’s desire there is no question what he will choose. Nor will there be even a second of hesitation. With so many guards surrounding his father at all times it isn’t likely he would survive the attempt but that certainly wouldn’t stop him from trying to bring the man down with him.  
“I won’t let him take you away,” he insists.  
Life without the man wrapped around him would be no life at all, devoid of joy and all that makes it worth getting up in the mornings. 

“We’ve talked about this.”  
Very few topics can set Madara’s jaw tight quite like this one. How many times does he have to tell his prince not to be reckless? Only a handful of weapons can kill him in any meaningful way anyway and even if the king’s potential assassins or _whoever_ have access to them Madara hadn’t become the first high-ranking Phoenix in history on his good looks alone. His skills with a blade alongside the supply pack hidden in his closet and his extensive knowledge of the servant tunnels would be enough to see him to safety.  
He will be damned before letting any harm befall Tobirama on his behalf, political or otherwise. Even if it means sacrificing their life together, sucking up his pride and fleeing at the first sign of danger. Better him than his prince.  
At least it hasn’t come to that yet.

“Hmph. You can’t stop me from daydreaming.” Most people don’t daydream about killing their own father but then most people also don’t have to live under Butsuma’s thumb the way he does.  
Shifting his fingers, he gathers the little stream of water still happily dancing for them and bids it a respectful thank you before sending it back to the lake. Then he turns just enough that he is able to look in to Madara’s eyes for the first time since his lover arrived. Madara has always had very pretty eyes, in his opinion, as black as a fathomless night and always filled with so much emotion. It was his eyes that Tobirama first fell in love with and he hasn’t regretted it for a single day since.  
“I suppose you’re right, though. Let’s talk about other things and enjoy the night. Tell me how you plan to torture your recruits later.”  
He watches the way Madara’s face lights up and it makes his heart feel a little less heavy. Small moments like these are the reason he pledged his soul to this man a long time ago. His partner begins to talk and Tobirama allows himself to let go of the day, to drift in the cadences of that beloved voice until nothing of the world exists but the moonlight keeping them safe and hidden. For as long as they have these moments to themselves he is determined to enjoy them.  
Let tomorrow’s problems stay in tomorrow. Tonight they are alone and he very much intends to enjoy every moment of such a gift as he can.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Rae

Tobirama listens to the sound of his own footsteps echoing on the marble of the empty corridor, concentrates on the way each reverberation presses against his eardrums instead of letting himself think about the meeting he’s just come from. If he lets his thoughts wander back to just a few minutes prior he isn’t sure what he’ll do but he knows it will be loud and unbecoming of a prince. He might not care very much for many parts of his own station but he does believe in having a bit of decorum.  
Usually.  
Control slips a little and Tobirama’s thoughts slide from staccato footsteps to wondering if there is a word for the sensation of feeling both absolute rage and absolute joy at the same time. The part of him that wants to fly high and crow his victory is equally matched with the part of him flexing his right hand over the hilt of the blade hidden in his sleeve. It would be so easy. Would anyone truly blame him? Tobirama silently repeats the consequences of treason in his head until his blood stops thundering in his ears and he can hear the echoing hallway once more.  
Where is Madara, he wonders. His lover needs to know about this immediately. The very thought of going another instant without sharing his news is akin to agony so Tobirama turns left at the end of the hall and heads for the shabbier end of the castle, the parts where one is more likely to find soldiers than members of the royal family. Madara mentioned training the new recruits for the rest of the week and Tobirama remembers him saying something about how irritated Yugai has been growing with having to pick up her superior’s slack so often.  
It doesn’t matter. Yugai will survive being irritated for one more day. This is important.  
The training grounds are as dusty as ever when Tobirama arrives several minutes later, pausing just inside the shadow of a doorway to watch as the captain of his guard demonstrates a move that sends him twisting to one side, a splendid cascade of hard-earned muscle. Perhaps he has a few seconds to spare after all. If nothing else, taking a few moments to observe will calm him down enough that he can keep his head in front of other people.

In Madara’s honest opinion, the Head of Defense is in desperate need of a tongue lashing. Either they’re entirely inept or think they’ve got better things to do _than their job_ and either way Madara is only two more witnessed missteps away from storming their office and kicking their ass himself.  
No soldier has any hopes of becoming even a low-ranking palace guard without years of training and to even be _considered_ for guarding the royal family one has to be at the top of their rank. The vetting process is there for a reason and a good one at that: to limit the potential of spies or assassins capable of slipping into the guard ranks and to ensure only the best stand in-between the high court members and potential threats.  
Having approved their recruitment to Tobirama’s guard himself, Madara knows full well these two had been the best candidates for the position. Yet their clashing swords might as well be giant sticks they are trying to clobber each other with and _not_ the refined weapons of trained swordsmen. Usually the sound of singing steel is exhilarating to him, blood singing along with it even from the sidelines, vicarious joy at the prospect of facing a challenging opponent. Now pain throbs in his head at every hit, his left eye twitching at the fumbling morons he is left to babysit.  
When one of them nearly loses their footing after a _light tap_ to their side he comes close to blowing a gasket, stepping in to put a stop to their idiocy before it gives him a full aneurysm.  
“How is it you’ve managed to forget _basic stances and disarming_?” It takes conscious effort not to screech the words. Not even the rightful fear widening their eyes can cool his temper, though he finds some sick glee in how quickly they back away from him when he draws his own sword.  
Demonstrating the proper technique without purposely knocking the wind out of one of them takes the rest of his self-control. After barking an order to keep practicing he throws his sword back in its sheath, counting backwards from one hundred in his head in hopes of calming himself.  
Green novices. That’s the best they had to give him. He has to find a way to turn green novices into capable guards for his prince.  
Miracles are a bit beyond his job description.

It takes a while but, as he’d thought it would, watching Madara at work calms the rage inside of him until Tobirama feels a little more like a proper nyx instead of a volatile human. Still he makes himself wait. Observation tells him that to interrupt now will only put Madara in to a more foul mood as well and there’s no point in both of them frothing at the mouth. Sometimes he needs Madara to help him keep his head - ironic considering how easily his beloved flies off the handle, as free with his temper as a rich man is with his money.  
He can’t truly say it’s a hardship getting to watch his partner like this anyway. There are times where he almost feels guilty for how naturally the older man follows him in most things within their relationship, times when he wonders if he has perhaps a little too much power over the other, and it always takes seeing him like this for Tobirama to see past his own unfounded worries. Madara allows him to take control because it’s what he wants, not because he isn’t capable of standing up for his own desires. Here in his natural element he is anything but subservient. A force of nature, a tsunami in every moment, he might be called poetry in motion if that poetry were written about triumphant battlegrounds.  
A prince Tobirama may be but it is Madara who decided that he is a prince worthy of following and bound them together with vows of loyalty before they even fell in love. Remembering that is a sorely needed balm to his soul no matter than the exact dynamics of their relationship have nothing to do with his current upset.  
Tobirama waits until the roiling emotions under his own skin have reduced from a boil to a simmer before shifting, edging out of the shadows to stand just within reach of the light. Let Madara notice him here in his own time - clearly none of these recruits have enough awareness to notice him before then, not judging by the line between those precious brows. Nothing frustrates Madara quite like incompetence in the people that only hold their position because they are meant to be competent in it. 

It takes a few tries, Madara losing count once or twice when the banging of metal interrupts his thoughts, but eventually it no longer feels like his shoulders are attached to his ears. He gives them an experimental roll once he’s calm and winces at the light clicking sound it creates. Muscle knots are as common as callouses in his line of work, though if Izuna’s to be believed the cause is less related to his work and more because he’s too ‘high-strung’.  
He’s liable to string the brat up by his bootstraps if Izuna doesn’t start taking him seriously. Honestly, what’s a phoenix supposed to do to get his well-deserved respect?  
The shine of expensive silk draws his attention away from the new recruits and the sight of his prince causes his breath to catch. He’d look stunning in rags let alone the brilliant shades of blue and silver he wears now and even with dust clouding the air sunlight still sets his hair aglow. Madara tears his gaze away long enough to catch his Lieutenant’s attention, jerking his head in gesture towards Tobirama in lieu of a verbal explanation. Just as well since his tongue has a nasty habit of tying itself in knots when caught unawares by his lover.  
Her scowl promises he’ll get an earful later and probably another blast of air to the face for leaving his duties to her again but his mind has already switched gears with his first steps towards Tobirama. When he’s only a few feet away he makes sure to stop and give a proper bow - no matter how many times he’s been told not to bother, he does it anyway, and not only for appearance’s sake.  
“Prince Tobirama, may I ask what brings you to our training grounds?” Because he knows how it gets under Tobirama’s skin, he makes sure to slip into his guard voice, openly smirking as he does so. No one else can see his face at the moment anyway, for all the world he’s being a proper subordinate and not being a purposeful arse.

Only for the sake of the soldiers watching them does he refrain from wrinkling his nose and reaching out to swat his favorite idiot up the side of the head. It is always worth the little flames that flicker out just to watch his eyes crinkle in amusement for having been successfully annoying yet again. If Tobirama didn’t love him so much...he isn’t sure, actually, since he can’t picture a world in which he does not love Madara and he isn’t too keen to try.  
“News from my father,” he offers in a voice pitched to carry across the field without being obvious that he is actively trying to be overheard. “Important but classified; I’m afraid we’ll need to speak of this in private.”  
He very much hopes Madara appreciates that he has found something else to say other than the usual excuse of ‘security briefing’ that he’d been planning to use. Even better that he’s actually telling the truth. Butsuma’s news is far from anything that he’d been expecting himself and it’s certainly something the head of his personal guard will need to know.  
Their reality is about to change. He can’t wait to watch Madara’s face as the news sinks in.  
With a flourish of silk he spins on his heel and strides away, acting the spoiled prince confident that his subordinate will follow, and indeed he hears Madara’s footsteps behind him not a moment later. It’s a shame that with his rank he is expected to always walk in front because there is a special kind of pleasure in watching Madara swagger through the hallways of the castle in his armor, even the lighter training set. With his body encased in steel and leather his steps are just that touch more self-assured, just a hint of a strut, and it’s fascinating to watch. Fascinating to certain body parts, that is. Tobirama finds that he has calmed down just enough to allow himself a hidden smirk.  
It’s a delicious sort of irony that his father has handed him the perfect excuse to be alone with Madara for quite a sizeable chunk of time. After giving his lover a proper amount of time to react to the news he very much intends to press him down against the sheets of his own royal bed and celebrate the joy that simmers within.  
Maybe later they can return to the training fields and Madara might also help him work out the rage as well. A prince should be prepared to defend himself, afterall, and he has never minded a private lesson from such an accomplished swordsman. 

Even knowing it’s put upon doesn’t stop Madara from admiring the regal air about Tobirama, drinking in the sight of his prince somehow simultaneously floating down the hall and commanding every inch of space he inhabits. In turn it makes him want to worship every inch of that deceptively lithe body with his tongue, etch poetry into pale skin with hands and teeth.  
Leaving any mark is, of course, a hard no, no matter if Tobirama would mind the love bites or not. As much as the thrill of danger makes Madara’s blood run hot there are certain line’s he’s not willing to test and risking their life together in such a foolish fashion is one of them.  
The royal chambers are a fair bit away from the barracks and private training fields but they reach Tobirama’s room in due time anyway thanks to his ‘self-important’ pace. Once the double doors are firmly shut behind them Madara marches in and sweeps the room, checking every nook and cranny for potential foul play or hidden assassins. One can never be too careful and Tobirama’s safety will forever come before all else.  
Not to mention he has a suspicion that whatever news his lover has should be kept far away from prying ears. It’s a rare day when Madara has difficulty reading his mood and at the moment he can’t tell whether or not they’ll both be requiring a punching bag after this conversation. Whatever it is, it’s no doubt to do with his meeting with the king.  
“So what’s the verdict? Is he banning children from playing or tossing the poor to the humans?”

Before answering Tobirama takes a moment to sweep his eyes down Madara’s form admiringly for the sheer pleasure of watching a flush of interest paint itself across those cheeks. Then he firmly presses those thoughts to the back of his mind and takes a deep breath, bracing himself against what he is about to say, words he sometimes worried he would never have the joy of saying.  
“His Majesty, the High King Butsuma, has made plans to give up his throne.”  
Thunderous silence echoes from every corner of the room, Madara’s jaw hanging loose with shock. Honestly Tobirama’s reaction was much the same when he first learned of this himself but only knowing that he needs to stay ahead of the his partner’s habit of spluttering stops him from taking the time to admire the amusing image he makes. Just because he did the same thing doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to laugh at Madara for it now.  
“It seems the illness has taken a more permanent and debilitating toll than he allowed the public to know - and apparently he considers his own sons to be a part of the public since none of us had any clue how weak he’s truly become. At the end of this month he plans to announce his passing of the throne to Hashirama, after which point he intends to spend his twilight years in our summer home on the Isle of Eien.”  
Just thinking about what comes next makes him clench his fists as amusement drains away. Tobirama can feel Madara’s eyes slide down to the visible sign of anger, probably confused to see it when he is delivering such joyous news, but he knows his next words will clear the mystery right away.  
“He also made it very clear that he is allowing Hashirama to take the crown because out of all of his sons Hashirama is, in his words, the ‘least disappointing’ rather than because it is his birthright. Among his thinly veiled insults he mentioned something about keeping an eye on the state of things from afar, the possibility of returning to the capitol should his son ever ‘require guidance on the proper way of things.’”  
Tobirama closes his eyes and just breathes, taking Madara’s scent in and expelling his emotions when he exhales. Saying the words takes the sharpness of them away and without the anxiety of holding his emotions at bay he feels hollowed out. He reaches for his partner. Needs something to make him feel steady while he reels drunkenly from one emotion to the next. 

Holding back his rage has never come easy to Madara, something he gave up trying to do for the most part back when he was still a child. Flickering heat touches the air as he seethes, his lip curling in a quiet snarl. Having born witness to the king’s insults in the past makes imagining the verbal jabs at Tobirama’s person far too easy and nothing sounds better to him at the moment than turning traitor to the throne and making that pathetic excuse of a man choke on his insults.  
Words of venom are on the tip of his tongue, curses even the most daring of warlocks would pale at ready to tear out of his throat, when Tobirama reaches for him. Madara steps forward without hesitation, without thought beyond being there for his lover. Sword and shield for the prince come life or death are his oaths but his allegiance runs deeper than any sworn words spoken on bent knees. Whatever his prince needs of him, needs him to be, he will be.  
Normally, Madara wouldn’t bother with questions, ever keen on reading body language and reacting accordingly. It’s less for the answer and more to ground Tobirama that he speaks now, wrapping him up tight and tilting back enough to meet those ruby eyes that never fail to set his heart racing.  
“What do you need of me?”

“Be you,” Tobirama murmurs simply. “I only ever need you to be yourself.”  
He feels better with Madara in his arms, feels like he can work passed the emotions beginning to overwhelm him again. The calm he had attained while watching the training earlier returns and Tobirama bends his head to bury it against the top of Madara’s hair.  
It doesn’t carry a particularly good smell right now. Overlaying his natural scent is the oil used to treat the training helmets to prevent rusting, mingled in with the sweat of hard exercise. Tobirama drinks it in anyway and knows he would prefer this to any perfectly perfumed courtesan, would take this scent for the rest of his life over the subtlest fragrance for no reason other than that it is Madara’s.  
He knows that Madara will be most angry at the insults to him, ever the loyal partner, but the hurts that sit sharp under Tobirama’s breastbone are not personal hurts. Hardest to bear were the insults Butsuma offered to his brothers who worked so hard to earn his affection and yet were turned away without any acknowledgement time and time again. As always their father finds a way to turn what should be only a joyous occasion in to something that tastes like ashes in his mouth. It’s hard to enjoy anything that is offered from Butsuma’s tainted claws.  
Madara nuzzles at him from below and finally Tobirama smiles again.  
“He’ll be gone,” he says, quietly as though merely speaking such magical words out loud might stop them from being true. When he pulls away Madara is looking up at him again and Tobirama finds his smile growing, the flames of anger banking to make way for awe.  
“You realize what this means?”

The open joy spreading across his lover’s face is a rare sight and Madara takes a moment to commit it to memory. Faint quirks are the closest things to smiles that usually grace those lips, genuine delight being rare enough that he’s seen more docile chimera than actual grins from him. After taking the few seconds necessary to memorize that look he nuzzles right back under Tobirama’s chin, if not only for the comfort of being so close to his most precious person then to also allow himself a minute to think.  
“Other than the obvious, I’m guessing?”  
How he can _feel_ Tobirama’s eyes roll either speaks to how well they know each other or to some unknown, innate ability of the nyx to project his expressions without need of sight. It has him exhaling sharply out of his nose either way, fidgeting as his mind draws a blank, for once in his life not being difficult just for the sake of it.  
“Hashirama will be king and you’ll no doubt be next in line for the throne. Am I missing something?”

Either his lover is being obtuse on purpose or Tobirama overestimated the man’s intelligence, he thinks with some measure of amusement. With just the slightest bend of his neck he nips the top of Madara’s ear and listens to the started exclamation.  
“Freedom,” he breathes. “With Butsuma gone…”  
Tobirama pulls away, falls back half a step so that Madara will meet his eye without ducking under his chin again, locking their gazes together as he says the words he’d never imagined he would have the pleasure of saying so soon.  
“Whatever his reaction, Hashirama is not the type to send you to your death - especially not when he knows how much pain it would cause me. No more hiding. No more sneaking around and meeting in secret. We can just...be. Together.” Lifting one hand, Tobirama traces the line of Madara’s jaw. “The whole world can know how lucky I am.”  
It sounds like a dream, no matter that he knows it to be true. Many things that have been impossible under Butsuma’s tyranny will blossom and take root during Hashirama reign. His brother is a silly fool at times but he has the heart of a good man and enough brains in his head to know which members on the Council of Advisors he is able to trust. And above all else Hashirama is forgiving. Whether he chooses to allow this forbidden relationship or not the worst punishment Tobirama can see him dealing out is banishment for the both of them.  
To be sent away to travel where he will with Madara at his side has never sounded like much of a punishment to him despite how his lover frets over the very thought. 

Ice collects in his veins at those words and Madara takes a step back of his own. No matter how wondrous an idea it may be he cannot let it take root lest he lose his senses to the daydream and forget the danger it could cause, forget _reason_.  
“You cannot know that.” It’s a harsh whisper between them, fear coloring his tone red with anger as it always does. Being in the service of one prince means he has indeed met Hashirama and knows well his generous nature but neither of them have the curse of foresight. Neither of them can really _know_ how he will react.  
Killing a man for loving another might be beneath Hashirama’s morals but there are far worse outcomes than dying for his prince. And knowing Tobirama would be stubborn enough to invite such punishment makes it all the worse.  
“Meeting in secret is better than- than, gods, who _knows_ what might happen?” Tugging at his scalp helps keep him rooted in place, his eyes focused on that damned spot of smeared paint no one has ever bothered to fix on the far wall. “You can’t just assume things will- and what if the king’s threat to come back isn’t smoke and lies? What then?”  
Let his pride be damned, for losing Tobirama over a hopeless dream is not an option. Being his dirty little secret might mean never fully standing at his side, never fully being a part of his life, but Madara can take that. He can live with that. He could never live being the stain on Tobirama’s life that ruins him.

Tobirama wants to roll his eyes at the panic he should have expected. He _knows_ the man’s views on their options but he allowed himself to get carried away with his excitement anyway. So many of the court think of Hashirama and Itama as the dreamers of their family; if only they could all see the secret places in Tobirama’s heart where he dreams of better futures, brighter tomorrows, where he plans for the days when he can stand beside Madara without fear of who will see them. None of them know him half as well as they think they do. It would likely give several of them heart attacks to find out just how poorly they misconceive him.  
“You know Hashirama almost as well as I do, you know he would never dole out undue punishment for a crime as simple as loving the ‘wrong person’. I will be the first to admit that we have all cast aside our morals at some point in an effort to earn our father’s love but Hashirama was ever a child of our mother first. His heart is as gentle as hers was.”  
Or so he remembers. A small niggling doubt rises in the back of his thoughts to remind him of how long it’s been since he sat down for a good conversation with his brother. He ruthlessly presses it back and forges onward.  
“I honestly don’t see a point in worrying about Butsuma either after that point. On the one hand he will be powerless to overturn Hashirama’s decisions when the crown no longer rests on his head. And on the other he won’t live forever. To hear him speak as he did earlier it sounds as though his final days are more shortly numbered than any of us realized. It was a powerful illness, evidently.”  
From the way Butsuma spoke of his twilight hours Tobirama feels confident in guessing that they are coming soon, likely in less than a full year. He narrows his eyes at Madara in the hopes that his lover will understand at last how close they really are to a golden age. Why can’t the cantankerous idiot just be happy for this turn of events?  
Maybe a better son would be more worried about his father’s apparent impending death than about how he will benefit from the aftermath but, then, maybe a better father would have inspired enough love from his son to earn such worry. In a choice between the ass of a nyx who barely sees him and the incredible phoenix who sees little else besides him, Tobirama’s first concern will always be Madara. It’s really no choice at all. 

There is little Madara loathes more than Tobirama’s ability to calmly shoot down his logic. His own thoughts swirl too fast when he’s angry or panicking, a hurricane of emotion blocking his mind when he needs it the most, and now is no different. Without access to a coherent argument he settles for refusing to look at him, crossing his arms and steaming further at every stuttered sound that fights its way past his teeth.  
If it was anyone else before him, he would stomp off to cool his head for a few hours. Give himself time to construct a proper response, to put the gut feeling he has to words. But the last time he’d done that with Tobirama they didn’t speak for a week outside of strictly professional matters - partially his own fault for never explaining why he left in the midst of an argument but he’s hardly to blame for not being able to keep his head cool enough to think straight.  
Grinding his teeth to put a stop to the stuttering, he turns his head further away to make his stance clear without the need to verbalize it. No matter how sound Tobirama’s blasted logic seems, the potential risk is simply too high for Madara to give it any consideration.

Evidently his partner isn’t in the mood to be happy about good things. What a stubborn man. Tobirama forces himself to pause, to breathe through the irritation and build up the courage to say what his partner should honestly have figured out by now. Madara turns his head when Tobirama softly touches his face again with gentle fingertips.  
“I hope you know I will have my comeuppance for you making me say this out loud,” he clarifies first. “You always tell me that my life comes first before yours, that your love means that you will bear any pain to see me happy.”  
Madara finally turns back to him and nods, his eyes lit with a hint of confusion as he clearly wonders where this is going. Tobirama darts his eyes away and back and curses the Gods as he feels his cheeks flushing without permission. Stupid emotions. It’s always so embarrassing to speak about them honestly like this.  
“How can you not know that I feel the same? How can you stand there and refuse me the same feelings, the same desires? If you are allowed to make your sacrifices then so am I. Madara, love, I am as touched as I always have been that you want only the best for me but...this is my choice. And when it is between you and the life that I have always known here in this castle of course I would choose you. Every time and without hesitation.”  
Being a prince, he’s aware that he’s lived a soft life until now. Leaving his inheritance behind would be the hardest thing he might ever do. He would have done it anyway years ago if he’d thought they could both survive the discovery. 

A small and rather childish part of him wants to stop his foot at those words, though most of him is too busy melting into goo at them to pay that any mind. It figures Tobirama would choose now, the worst possible time, to become a romantic.  
Catching the hand gracing his cheek, Madara leans into it and finally manages to close his mouth and stop impersonating a fly trap. After a few moments of mental scrambling, thankfully uninterrupted by any further romantic declarations, his voice comes back to him, brow creased in thought as he finally processes something beyond ‘love’ and whatever giddy feeling is threatening to bubble over in his chest.  
“That’s...different. Of _course_ I know you love me but you’re not _supposed_ to sacrifice anything for me. That’s literally in my job description, in my vows to serve you. I’m not trying to refuse you anything, I’m just not worth the-”  
His jaw snaps shut, string of consciousness cut short, before he rushes on in a vain attempt to brush past whatever he’d just been about to say. “It’s hardly worth the trouble, we’re fine as we are. Nothing wrong. I’m stealthy enough to sneak around for a lifetime. Plenty of experience, good training, glad that’s covered.”

“Ah...no.”  
Tobirama blinks slowly and prays to the Gods who bless their kingdom that he didn’t hear what he thinks he was about to hear.  
“Go back a moment. What was that about not being worth something?”  
Madara isn’t meeting his eyes and it’s very telling. All of the softness swelling up inside pauses and constricts around the sudden horror of realization and it’s all he can do not to sway on the spot with dizziness from experiencing one too many strong emotions in the short span of an hour.  
“How can you think you’re not _worth_ that?” he breathes. “To me! How can you not know what you are worth to me? I would give the world - every world in all of the many dimensions - for you. To keep you safe, to make you happy, even for just one smile. And you think you’re not worth any of that?”  
It pains him to see the way his partner’s face turns even farther, either unable or unwilling to meet his eyes. That Madara turns from him at all has always been able to cut him deeply but this is different. This is a failure on his own part to impress upon Madara what he means to the world around him, to the people he serves with and any person lucky enough to cross paths with him. He’s got a reputation for being a grump, sure, but there’s a reason half the damn castle would lay down their lives at a single word from him.  
Aching in a way he’s never experienced before, Tobirama pulls Madara close and presses soft kisses against his forehead. If he cannot look then Tobirama will shower him with affection until he can.  
“What could possibly make you think such foolishness?” he demands. 

There’s a mental block where an explanation should be. A wall keeping him out. No matter how he tries to think passed it no route to the solution presents itself. As if his own mind is set against him. Frustration should have already settled in, nails biting into his palms or raking at his scalp, but he feels none of the usual anger at not understanding something important.  
Evidently this conversation has been more taxing than he’d thought. Something has snapped or short-circuited in whatever part of his brain that usually leaves his emotions on the ‘extreme’ setting, and without the usual flood he feels eerily empty for a few minutes. All he can do is circle back to that thought he hadn’t let himself finish, vaguely aware of the soft kisses left across his forehead and cheek, perpetually drawing a blank as to why the thought had popped out of his mouth in the first place.  
Half in the hopes of working passed the mental block, and half to assure Tobirama he’s not purposely ignoring him, Madara tries to work it out aloud, starting with whatever comes to him first.  
“I know how you see me.” The silver clasp at Tobirama’s collar shines in the light. He lifts a hand to trace the embossed lines, the family crest always a stark reminder of his lineage. “I know you hold me in high regard, there’s no question of that. That’s not it, you haven’t…”  
A soft caress of his cheek encourages him on, though any hope of figuring out his apparent issues with self-worth is lost when a new thought niggles at his brain. He peeks up through his bangs at the nyx still doing his best to all but smother him in affection, an effort he wouldn’t typically have any problem with accepting wholeheartedly and without question.  
Knowing Tobirama and his habit of overthinking even minuscule details, the possibility he’s found a way to blame himself for whatever this new found worth issue is wouldn’t be an outlandish assumption. Which means, of course, that his lack of brain-to-mouth filter has managed to make both of their days even worse.  
With a loud groan, Madara eyes the nearest wall and gives serious consideration to ramming his head into it in the vain hope that it will knock some sense into him. It’s knowing that he’d have to come up with a plausible explanation as to why his prince’s bedroom wall needs to be fixed that keeps him from doing so, instead burying his face into Tobirama’s chest and ignoring the surprised sound the sudden movement earns him.  
Only ever needs him to be himself, indeed. He’s managed to screw that simple request right up by merely _following it_.  
“Look, I can’t understand _everything_ , alright? So can we just not?” His words are muffled by fabric and probably unintelligible because of that but Madara doesn’t really care. All he wants to do is melt into the arms encircling him and forget the past half hour like some crazed fever dream from eating forest mushrooms.

Knowing how difficult it is for both of them to express themselves properly means that Tobirama cannot find it within himself to be irritated in any way with how Madara struggles now. It’s something he has too much experience with himself. The niggling pain inside throbs with knowing this glorious man sees any part of himself as unworthy but...not every problem can be solved in a day. It’s a hard truth that he’s had to relearn more than a dozen times in his life, always wanting to solve everything all at once, always expecting himself to have a solution when often there simply isn’t one. It doesn’t work with his scientific studies and it doesn’t work with their relationship.  
At least Madara hasn’t shied away from his affections, leaning in to them and even burrowing closer as though to ask for more. Tobirama isn’t sure what he would do if Madara were ever that far gone. Without words these small gestures are all he has. They’re his best weapon, his surest argument, the clearest connection between them.  
“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he allows since clearly they won’t make any headway if he tries to push it. “But we do have to talk about this sometime. If I had known you see yourself as worth less than me...I would have cleared that misconception years ago. Whether you are mine or not you are worth more than a hundred good men. I would be more than happy to extol upon your virtues until you understand that.”  
No matter how badly doing so is likely to make him blush. Affectionate gestures come easily but no matter how confidently he can make his words sound there are times when he fights for them just as hard as the man in his arms.  
Madara grunts against his chest and Tobirama quirks just one corner of his lips, not quite a smile but a quicksilver flash of amusement, there and gone again in an instant. His lover has always been such a confident man as well, so assured of his place and his own abilities. It never once occurred to Tobirama that someone like that might doubt themselves in any way. Perhaps he’s allowed his own opinions to blind him; he hates to admit but it certainly would not be the first time.  
“This was supposed to be happy news, you know. I truly did not mean to spark such deep revelations or serious conversation. Let me make it up to you?”

“Happy news.” He shifts just enough to squint up at Tobirama, his scowl a little more forced than usual. “Don’t think we’re done discussing that ‘happy news’ either. I’m not gonna let you just up and do something stupid.”  
That being said, Madara’s had more than enough talking and introspection in the past half hour to last him a lifetime. A distraction would be heavenly, physical or otherwise. Hopefully the former. Physical exertion always has a way of clearing the static in his mind.  
Pushing himself up on his toes lets him just reach those frowning lips with his own, long used to the embarrassing height difference and finding it more appealing than anything else nowadays. No doubt Tobirama had thought he was about to argue more but Madara lays any fear of that to rest by reaching up to tangle a hand in silver hair, tugging his prince down closer. He gives them both a few moments to melt into the kiss, to enjoy the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other, revel in how _right_ it always feels to be together.  
As he pulls away, Madara nips at his lower lip, the soft gasp darkening his already black eyes with interest.  
“You know, I was promised a _debriefing_ and I’m still woefully briefed.”

If it’s a distraction his partner wants then Tobirama is more than happy to get back to his original purpose for bringing them here in to the privacy of his rooms. They can have that promised conversation later, he’ll be certain of that. For now he is content to be led backwards until his knees touch the luxurious mattress behind him.  
“Keep talking about your briefs and you will soon find yourself without them,” he says. See? He can be humorous too. Sort of.  
Madara snorts at his terrible joke, which is really all he expects, and gives him a gentle shove. He lands on the mattress with a light bounce and crawls backwards a little to make room for his partner to crawl over him, pleased to let the serious weight of heavy conversation give way to more enjoyable activities.  
“Do your worst, Captain,” he whispers.  
The light in Madara’s eyes tells him he is about to experience the very best.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right after the previous chapter 
> 
> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown

Madara will be the first to admit that he’s not a patient man. Rushing head first into situations has both gotten him in and out of a lot of trouble over the decades, leading to as many problems as it has solutions. At the moment, however - with Tobirama pressed into the silk beneath him, pupils blown wide and lips parted, face shadowed as Madara’s hair slips over one shoulder and blocks out the light, with his own mind still doing its best to twist itself into knots instead of focus on where he can get those pretty hands to touch him - testing just how far he can stretch his prince’s exceptional self-control and patience seems far more appealing than a quick, if satisfactory, roll in the sheets.   
Framing Tobirama’s head with his hands Madara dips down, brushing their lips together to feel the contrast. Chapped lips on soft skin, the dichotomy he feels so often between them, only truly erased when they’re laid bare, all falseness stripped away as they tangle limbs together and become one.   
He plans to take his time stripping those layers away, for now content to deepen the kiss and keep it slow. Shifting his weight to one hand he runs the other down Tobirama’s chest, chasing the hitch of his breath when he swipes at Tobirama’s lips with his tongue. Runs the hand back up, calloused palm scratching at silk, index and thumb fiddling with the cool metal clasp at his collar. He focuses on the two points of contact between them, further grounding himself in the moment, far away from blood and politics. Only them, two lovers in a bed, breaths mingling and the sound of rustling fabric as one fidgets beneath the other.

Neither of them have ever been the type to let go of things easily and yet Tobirama can already feel the world slipping away from him, fading out until all that exists is the quiet of the bedroom, the rustle of fabric as Madara shifts above him and plays with the edges of their clothing. Already he can feel his heart beating faster as it anticipates what he knows is coming.   
Madara looks beautiful like this. His brows dip towards each other in a frown of deliberate concentration, grounding himself and forcing all other thoughts aside to concentrate on now. There’s no one here to judge him for it as Tobirama gives in to a whimsical urge and lifts one hand to smooth out the wrinkles on his partner’s brow. It earns him narrowed eyes and teeth snapping playfully at his digits so he reaches instead to curl his hand loosely around the man’s neck, pulling with a light pressure that is as little of a demand as his words when he speaks.   
“Kiss me again,” he asks. He can be commanding when he wants to - delights in it, actually, enjoys Madara’s obedience between the sheets in a way that’s different from having anyone else follow his thoughtless orders around the castle. But he does know how to be softer sometimes and right now their previous conversation is fresh between them. Right now he thinks the best thing to do is to remind his lover that everything in their relationship is a choice they both make together. Compromise is no stranger for all that is rankles each time to give ground, pride warring against his desire to treat Madara always as the equal he should be.  
He chose Madara just as much as Madara chose him, his rising phoenix, his burning heart, the light that guides him in an otherwise dark world.   
“Please,” he whispers, offering the choice simply because it warms him to do so.

For a split second he’s tempted to make a snarky remark on how Tobirama’s resorted to begging already. It dies off the moment he sees the softened edges of those red eyes, sees the depth of love so deep there he could drown in them. Poets and songstresses throughout history have spoken of eyes being the windows to the soul and Madara can see it now, can see the compassion and empathy so often hidden behind a lifetime of being a political figure before being a man, prince before all else.   
Sees the very reason he pledged himself to this man. Not the first time, not when he’d knelt in front of the king and his prince and swore official oaths, but several years later, standing guard in the shadows and watching as the royal brothers laughed together. When he swore his heart away at as simple a thing as crinkling eyes and a gentle voice as Tobirama spoke to his youngest brother.   
He’s kept that moment to himself for years. Not even Tobirama knows he’d fallen for him so easily, over a year before either had even hinted at becoming something more.   
A light tug at the smalls hairs of his neck stops his musing. It’s non-insistent, a request repeated without words. Madara’s all too willing to be pulled close once more, to get drunk on how perfectly they fit together. And just to feel warm skin under his fingertips he finally shoves the silk shirt out of his way, running a hand up his back to feel Tobirama arch into him.   
“I love you,” he murmurs in between soft kisses, spreading Tobirama’s legs apart with his knees to slot himself between them. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth, if only you’d ask it of me. Would die a thousand deaths just to live one at your side.”   
Laying flush against each other at last, Madara runs blunt nails down Tobirama’s side just hard enough to feel him shiver underneath him. He’d have to get up eventually to strip out of his leathers but that’s a problem for his future self, his current one too busy whispering confessions as he nuzzles into a pale cheek turning redder by the second. If anyone else ever heard him speak such nonsense he’d surely die of embarrassment himself. At least there’s solace in knowing no one will believe Tobirama if he ever speaks a word of it to anyone.   
“Do you know what you do to me? How truly beautiful you are? I envy the poets their words but even they could never do you justice.”

He brought this sappiness on himself, he knows, and for that Tobirama resists the urge to turn his nose away in discomfort. It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoy it, only that he’s never been the best with knowing what to do with it. Emotions are slippery things, hard to handle, and yet each time he allows Madara to overwhelm him he finds it easier - even if only slightly. He would be much more at ease speaking carnal desires, though he recognizes the mood has not swung quite so far in that direction. Sexuality has never shamed him, the things his body finds pleasure hardly in his control, and it has always interested him how perfectly opposite they are in that respect.   
“I know I don’t want you to die even one death and that is all the poetry I have,” he says with blunt honesty. Maybe it will distract from the redness of his cheeks. A thousand people and more have called him beautiful, ingratiating themselves to the second heir or sometimes hoping to take advantage of his power in some way by gaining his favor through flattery. Madara always _means_ it when he says so and it baffles Tobirama every time. Prince or no he is naught but a simple nyx, one who doesn’t even have the decency to look like the rest of his own race, he’s not entirely sure what sets him apart in his beloved’s eyes.  
He wants to say that Madara looks beautiful too - he does, he always does - but without assuming his air of command he always finds that the words fit awkwardly in his mouth. Softness does not come easily so he appeases the desire by reaching for the buttons of Madara’s shirt and opening them slowly, as erotically as one can do such a simple action, holding the man’s gaze as he reveals more and more skin. This much at least he is comfortable with. 

Sometimes he forgets how hard death is to fathom for those who only experience it once, how terrifying a concept it is to most. Later, perhaps, he’ll tell Tobirama how he’s already died twice before they’d ever met, but even he knows that sort of topic will put a damper on the current mood.   
Instead he decides to tease his love some more - not that a word up to this point has been untrue or stretched in the slightest. He’s simply not blind and knows how easily it flusters his prince - not even trying to hide his smirk as he rolls them to one side.   
“What, tongue too tied to ‘extoll upon my virtues’ now?” With Tobirama divesting him of his clothes, Madara returns the favor, luckily too distracted to get angry at the number of buttons in his way as he usually does. Royals and their blasted uniforms, far too stiff and complicated.   
“Hmmm, what was it you said? That you’d give ‘every world in all the many dimensions’ for me?” Even repeating it for the sake of teasing makes Madara’s heart flutter stupidly. He ignores it in favor of leaning closer, licking a strip up Tobirama’s neck to whisper in his ear. “That you would always choose me, every time without hesitation?”   
If he thought for a second Madara would let him live that down he’d been horribly wrong. Nothing can ever make him forget such a honeyed sentiment from his typically reticent nyx.

Tobirama narrows his eyes and pauses his fingers to prod one of them under the single ticklish spot along Madara’s left rib cage.   
“And I meant every word of that, what of it?” He sniffs once and presses Madara down in to the sheets, crawling over top of him as he had been imagining earlier. “It’s called being _romantic_ and I do know how.” If he pretends hard enough maybe the blush on his own face will go away. Romance is somehow easier to dish out than it is to accept in return, though if given a choice he still prefers actions over words. Words are messy. Easy to misconstrue. Why bother with them when actions can speak just as loud?  
Just in case the other man gets any thoughts about continuing this little game of ‘remember that embarrassing thing you said earlier’ Tobirama ducks his head and sinks his teeth in to the tendons of Madara’s neck, sucking lightly while his fingers glide over the gloriously scarred skin now exposed for his eager perusal. Each one of these scars is a badge of honor and he makes sure to trace them all individually. It would be hard to count the number of times he’s fantasized about tasting each and every one of them, though it’s depressingly easy to count how often he’s actually had the time to do so, pushing their clothes away and licking his way across every hotspot from neck to groin, usually as quickly as he can so they can get down to the point rather than waste time before someone comes looking for them.   
Madara’s hips buck playfully underneath him and it takes a moment to remind himself that he meant to allow his partner to decide where they take themselves this time. With a sigh he pulls away from his ministrations and lets his body go limp for Madara to roll them in to whatever position he will. It’s not so much that it is hard for him to give up control, only that authority is so ingrained in to his being that he simply forgets to let go of it sometimes, but for this man he would do anything and so Tobirama reminds his muscles to relax, reminds himself that this time he will bend where he is asked to. 

Madara’s indignant huff is filled with as much disappointment as he can muster when Tobirama stops, his patience running thinner with every minute separating them from the _disaster_ of earlier. The plan had been to take his time, see how long Tobirama would put up with his teasing, but now that he has his hands on a bit of that pale skin Madara desperately wants his tongue on parts still hidden from view.   
The clothes have to go. It pains him to lose the contact but he pushes Tobirama back up, giving him the firm order, “Shirt off.”   
It does awful things to his self-control when his order is followed without hesitation, Tobirama not missing a beat as he tosses it to the side. The silk hardly has time to touch the floor before Madara’s tangling a hand in silver hair, tugging quite a bit harsher than normal in his haste, taking advantage of Tobirama’s surprised gasp to lick into his mouth and devour him.

Clothing drips from them piece by piece, shirts and trousers and belts, jackets, undergarments, silk and leather mixing together on the floor and just as easily forgotten. Madara’s hands are as frantic as his mouth and Tobirama does nothing but ride the wave until their limbs are so hopelessly entangled he’s not sure where he ends and his partner begins. Not that he minds. To be one with this frantic, volatile, gorgeous man - it’s the thing he dreams of most. These are the moments when he feels the passion between them at its strongest, when they both cast off the barriers that shield them from the rest of the world and set free the sides of themselves they show only to each other.   
He almost expects Madara to press him down the way he so often does to his partner, turning the tables for fair play; he was almost looking forward to it, actually. It seems the mood of romance intends to stay, however, as Madara pulls him close instead and refuses to give up his kisses.   
This is nice too, he thinks. More than nice. Even better knowing that they have an excuse to take their time for once without rushing so they won’t be caught, soft love making turned to frantic dirty fucking due to sheer lack of time. He appreciates this chance more than he can express through words alone. Actions will have to do - though that isn’t to say he doesn’t have a few words to say.   
Waiting until Madara pauses to moan softly at the soothing press of his hands against sore muscles, Tobirama draws his head back without separating their bodies and does his best to imitate what Madara calls his ‘sex eyes’.   
“Tell me what you want and it’s yours,” he purrs. “Where would you like me, love?” 

Even without moving Tobirama looks every bit a predator on the prowl through his eyes alone. More feline than the water spirit he is, a nekomata in human form, come down from his mountains to devour his prey.   
And what a way to go that would be.   
Bood running too hot and busy powering everything _but_ his brain, it takes far more mental processing than usual to come up with an answer beyond dumbly blurting out ‘want you.’ Narrowing all of the delicious potentials down to one proves nearly impossible with them pressed so close and he’s tempted for a minute to change nothing and continue as they are, tangled limbs on their side and slowly moving against each other in a soft sort of rutting.   
With Tobirama working at a particularly tough knot near his shoulder blade the fog of arousal dissipates just enough for one image to win out over the rest: Tobirama working himself to completion over him, muscles contracting in a beautiful display for his eyes only, greedy hands free to roam wherever they please as Madara is consumed by the tight heat of _his_ prince, his alone.   
As easy as confessing every piece of his heart comes to him, it’s equally difficult for Madara to speak on their more _intimate_ dealings. He untangles their legs to roll onto his back, pulling Tobirama along to situate him on his lap. It’s not a position they do often, so just to be clear he tries to say it, turning his head to study the embroidery on one of the decorative pillows as he clears his throat.   
“I want you to- this. I want this.”

“You want me to ride you,” Tobirama guesses, merciless grin spreading his lips like Madara’s hips spread his legs. It’s always so adorable when his lover attempts to fluster him and ends up himself being flustered instead.   
It’s also a bit of a turn on but Tobirama is merciful enough to avoid mentioning that. He promised himself he would see to Madara’s pleasure above all else and that is exactly what he intends to do. Still, he waits for the half-hearted glare and the agreeing nod before humming thoughtfully and rolling his hips.  
“That sounds...delicious.”  
Leaning forward, he graces the man below him with the slow ripple of his body as he stretches up to where the pillows are and slides his hand underneath one of them to feel around for the half-full bottle of lubricant that should be there. It sees much more use than he would be willing to discuss even on the nights Madara cannot come to him. Just the memories of their stolen moments is often enough to have him writhing between the sheets with flushed skin and aching arousal, unable to sleep until he finds what little satisfaction he can in his own hands.   
Finally his fingers close around the little bottle but it takes a moment for Tobirama to return to an upright position, distracted as he is by the tongue and teeth that have latched on to his chest.   
“If you distract me then you’ll never get what you want,” he warns. It comes out breathy in a way that makes it obvious how little he really minds. 

Conscious effort is all that keeps Madara from biting any harder, coloring that pale chest with his mark. He kneads the firm thighs framing his hips, taking one nipple between his teeth and tugging to hear Tobirama gasp above him.   
If only to be contrary, no matter that he knows his lover doesn’t mind, Madara keeps him there for a while longer. Small red marks are all that he allows himself to leave, nothing that won’t disappear within the hour, nothing that might give them away in the unlikely chance someone catches a glance of what is his. By the time he spares a glance at the face that is the centerfold of all his most treasured memories and erotic fantasies, Tobirama’s eyes are half-lidded and dark with desire, lips slightly parted in anticipation.   
They’ve done this dance enough times that Madara need not see what Tobirama reached for to know. As he lets his nyx sit back up, he puts a hand over the one about to pop the bottle open, swallowing back his embarrassment as Tobirama raises a single white eyebrow in question.   
“Let me.” It’s meant as a question. He squeezes the thigh under his left hand, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb, hoping to convey it’s an option he’s allowed to refuse.

As if he would ever turn down such an offer even if he were not determined to follow his lover’s every desire for once. Tobirama drops the bottle on to Madara’s naked chest with a grin and settles himself low enough that he can brush his lips against the other man’s, only just too far away for a proper kiss.   
“Yes please,” he whispers. And then just to be an asshole he adds, “Thank you...sir.”  
Madara twitches under him and his eyes flick over to their discarded clothing. The next time one of his other guards owes him a favor Tobirama very much intends to have them bring him a set of their own uniforms. How delightful it would be to be the one kneeling at Madara’s feet and swearing his own sort of fealty. A delicious image, that. If they ever have the time for it he thinks roleplay may be something he would like to explore between them.  
His lover fumbles with the bottle, almost losing the stopper within the sheets and then pouring out a bit more than necessary before he can get it back in, but Tobirama says nothing about it. The maids here are known for their discretion and they’ve no reason to suspect that whatever new stains appear are from anything but him alone staving off his own hungers. Eager fingers trace his entrance then and all thoughts of maids and possible stains fly from his mind. All thoughts of anything but the sweet glide of those calloused digits melts away, soft noises falling from his lips as he presses back in to those touches with a wordless plea. 

No matter if they spend a lifetime together he will forever be in awe at the ease with which Tobirama shows his pleasure. From the way his brow crinkles to the unfettered moans that had made Madara certain they’d be caught the first night they spent together, to how he pushes back against his fingers now, asking for more before Madara’s really even begun. But Madara takes his time with this as well, caressing Tobirama’s entrance with a single finger, determined to memorize every twitch of his facial muscles - to unhurriedly bask in this moment, in what is usually rushed or done by Tobirama himself prior to their clandestine meetings.   
By the time he slips one knuckle past the ring of tight muscles his nyx is getting impatient. The unheated glare sent his way disappears entirely when long, white lashes flutter, any potential protest lost to the soft moan his slow ministrations earn him, the sound going straight south and causing Madara’s hips to buck without his permission.   
He tries to keep Tobirama distracted from the languid pace he’s set, running a hand up his perfectly sculpted form to further abuse his chest, rolling one pebbled nipple between his fingers, delighting in the gasp it earns him.   
When he slips a second finger in alongside the first Madara’s already unbearably turned on by the sight above him. Pale skin glistening in a sheen of sweat, glazed eyes staring right into his own but entirely unfocused as Madara works him open, one hand splayed open on his chest for support while the other grips the sheet tight beneath them.   
Whether out of kindness or cruelty he’s not sure but before he slips in a third Madara crooks his fingers just right to slide against that one spot he knows from experience will make him see stars. The delicious clenching of muscles tries to keep him from pulling out and the sheer offense on Tobirama’s face when he does so to add more oil is offset by the desperate whine that accompanies it.

If he were the type more inclined to puff out his own ego then the look in Madara’s eyes at the moment would surely do the trick. It never fails to humble him seeing such raw and honest awe for nothing but his natural reactions. Emotions are hard but pleasure? Pleasure is easy. Even now with all of their usual habits turned on their heads. Normally it would be Madara writhing on Tobirama’s fingers, happy to follow everywhere his prince leads him.   
As much as he’d thought he would need to continuously remind himself not to take the lead as usual, simply following habit, instead Tobirama finds that he’s enjoying this more than expected. It’s far from the first time they’ve traded roles but it is the first time Madara’s had the freedom to be as slow and as gentle as he often professes to wish for - though Tobirama is fairly sure he’s being extra slow just to tease.   
It’s working. Definitely working.  
But if it’s the full experience that his partner wants then that is precisely what he will get. Gently pushing himself up until his full weight is supported on the knees bracketing Madara’s hips and the fingertips balancing him against a solid chest, Tobirama straightens and arches his spine, throwing his head back until his hair falls back in what the official court poet likes to describe as a cascade of silver. His bottom lip catches artfully between his teeth and he moans as deeply as he dares, rocking with the rhythm of the fingers sliding back inside him.   
“Deeper,” he rumbles pleadingly. “I want to take all of you.”  
He is no stranger to how devastating his own words can be, how easy it is to rile his partner up with a few choice phrases. Madara has ever been weak to the way he freely expresses his own pleasure and Tobirama shamelessly takes advantage of that every chance he has. There’s no reason for that to change simply because he isn’t the one being ridden this time.

Madara sends a silent prayer to the gods to spare him. Whatever gurgled noise that tears itself out of his throat at those words is anything but dignified, the heat between them so intense he’s certain he’ll burst into flames before this is over.   
Death over an artfully arched back and a deep voice that goes straight to his cock. He can only hope Tobirama will forgive him the inevitable stain his ashes will leave on his silk bed sheets.   
Such a performance can hardly go unrewarded. Mapping out the contours of his chest and abs one last time, Madara dips his free hand lower, running a palm against the neglected shaft standing so pretty in wait for his attention. As he rubs a thumb over the head he presses in deeper with his other hand, finding that sweet spot and making Tobirama moan for him more, no longer focusing on stretching him open but on giving as much pleasure as possible.   
His earlier thoughts of putting his tongue to good use comes back to him and Madara gives serious consideration to tugging Tobirama closer to do just that, absently licking his lips. His prince has already started to squirm for him - how erotic a sight would he be writhing in pleasure from a mouth wrapped around his cock?   
A fantasy for another time. Madara can barely contain himself now; if he allows himself that, he won’t last long enough to fully satisfy either of their desires.   
With that scenario pushed to the side he finally lets up his assault, pulling out once more. He’s already started smearing the excess oil on his own neglected member, groaning at the simultaneous flood of relief and _not enough_ , when it occurs to him to ask if Tobirama’s ready.   
“You good?” It sounds embarrassingly breathless, though Madara has little presence of mind to care at the moment, too captured by the look in Tobirama’s eyes that can only be described as ‘smoldering.’

“I am _always_ good.” Tobirama preens over the reaction that gets him, Madara closing his eyes for a moment and looking caught halfway between shuddering with anticipation and sighing with exasperation. He seems to settle for cracking his eyes open again and using his hands to guide Tobirama’s hips back a little.   
Taking the hint, he waits until he can feel Madara lined up at just the right spot before carefully pressing down. It still takes a couple of tries to find the perfect angle but when he does it is instant bliss. He’s always enjoyed this part when their positions are reversed and yet he somehow always manages to forget how much he enjoys it like this too. Muscles stretch and clench as Madara slides in to the rhythm of Tobirama’s rolling hips, taking his time sinking down inch by inch, head thrown back once more with shameless pleasure by the time he is completely full and sitting astride the man beneath him.   
Madara is hot. He always is, as a phoenix should be, but Tobirama can think of nothing else in that moment but the incredible heat inside him, the warm hands tracing up the lines of his trembling thighs, the hot gaze watching his every move. It is just on the edge of overwhelming and yet still he is tempted to beg for more, greedy for as much of Madara as he can have.   
Slowly, gradually, he lifts himself up until he can feel the blunt head of Madara’s cock pulling at his entrance. Then he slides back down at an agonizingly slow pace and rolls his head down to lock eyes with his partner.   
“Like this, love?” he asks knowingly. “Is this what you pictured? You wanted to see me spread over you and taking my pleasure. You wanted to see me writhing and know that it was you who put me in such a state, didn’t you?” Ducking his chin, he closes one eye in a slow wink. “Filthy, that’s what that makes you.”  
Madara is panting, riveted to his every word, and Tobirama rewards them both by canting backwards until he finds his own prostate with the cock he is riding, clenching tightly with a stuttering gasp.   
“And _mine_. You are always mine.”

There isn’t anything to his world but them. Nothing reaches his ears but the filth dripping from Tobirama’s tongue, gasping breaths and the frantic beat of his own heart. Nothing matters beyond his love stretched over him, the way Tobirama’s hips move under his hands, how his jaw hangs a little more loose with each successful stroke against his prostate.   
He’s lost in the pleasure Tobirama takes from him and begs to whatever god that might hear his plea that he might never be found. Let this moment between them stretch forever, for them to never have to be more than two men in a lover’s embrace again.   
It takes time for his voice to come to him, stolen as it is by that wicked tongue. Not for the first time he wishes he could speak like that in turn. To be able to set a fire inside his love with words alone, convey how desirable every inch of Tobirama’s being is to him.   
All he can do is hold on to the force that is his lover, to guide their movements slow in order to keep himself together.   
“ _Gods_ , koi. Do you know wha-” He’s cut off by Tobirama clenching around him, Madara’s eyes rolling back and lower lip caught between his teeth to bite back a moan.   
“Perfect,” he breaths at last, still unable to gather himself enough to open his eyes more than a fraction.   
“You’re perfect. Always. Yours, koi, I’m yours.”   
A satisfied smirk is his answer and a single sharp snap of hips has him keening, biting his lip so hard to keep quiet he tastes copper. Part of him wants to beg Tobirama to do it again but an equal part is tempted to swat at one of those pale cheeks currently spread around him for how smug the nyx looks - rightfully smug, perhaps, but that hardly matters.   
The second snap sends his thoughts scattering, hands scrambling to keep their rhythm steady, knowing full well he’s too worked up from simply watching Tobirama to have any chance of lasting more than a handful of minutes if they set a fast pace.   
He tries to warn Tobirama as much. But one glance back up stops him.   
Tobirama’s head is thrown back once more, a hand gripped in his own hair as he rolls his hips. Body beautifully arched in a purposeful display of muscle, abdominals clenching, jaw slack as he moans with abandon, as if the whole kingdom should know of their coupling, should know they belong to each other.   
More than ever, Madara wants this. Wants exactly what Tobirama so knowingly accused him of wanting. For his prince to fuck himself wide on his cock and come undone, with little care for how slowly or quickly they get there.   
“I’m yours, koi.” His eyes slid shut again against his will, leaving him to drown in touch and sound alone. “And you’re _mine_.”

Amidst the haze of pleasure Tobirama smirks. The man can be as humble as he wants about his own self-worth but his instincts know what is right and proper. This primal part of him that comes out when he babbles, too lost in their coupling to realize what he is even saying, that part of him always knows.   
His thighs are trembling harder, Tobirama notes, almost struggling to keep his rhythm under the sheer force of his own pleasure. Every stroke of the thick cock he’s riding draws him closer and closer to his end until suddenly he’s racing for it without remembering the shift in energy. Each time he sinks down Madara gives a soft helpless cry and each sound makes Tobirama clench around him, sensation and triumph and ecstasy all licking through his veins like the bits of flame flickering in his lover’s hair. Between one moment and the next he realizes he is _desperate_.   
The hand pulling at his own hair unwinds and he skims his palm down the planes of his own chest, half because it feels good and half to give a little show for the writhing phoenix caught between his thighs, who gives a gasping moan of appreciation for the treat. Then he takes himself in hand with a hard shiver. From the first stroke he can tell he is closer than he realized so he leans forward as much as he can without losing the glorious angle impacting his prostate with every thrust now.   
“Yours,” he growls. “I belong to you and nothing else in this kingdom and I want the entire world to know that.”  
His eyes flutter closed, losing track of whatever nonsense is coming out of his mouth while his concentration scatters to the four winds.   
“Gods I’m so close. I want to scream for you. I want to scream so loud the echoes remain in the rafters for years to remind every member of the Seven High Races that we belong together. _Fuck_ , just a little harder. A little - _yes_ , that’s it.”  
A desperate keen escapes him, cutting off his already breaking words as he rises higher and higher, teetering on the edge and unable to fall over just yet. He needs something...something…

The faint smell of something burning tickles at his nose and a fleeting thought tells him that he knew this would happen, that this nyx would be the death of him here, tonight. It mixes and is lost in the heady scent of them, the obscene slap of skin-on-skin, his own blood rushing in his ears, muscles tensing and ready to come undone.   
He wants to hear him scream. Scream his name loud enough to drown out all else, consequences be damned. Fights with himself to say as much, prepared to beg, pride as well be damned, just to hear that desperate keening morph into a shout the whole palace can hear-   
-but not a syllable of his request is heard before release hits him, hips stuttering, a slew of curses slipping from his lips as his eyes screw shut - vulgar ones from the outskirts, colored with an accent he’d assumed long gone from his decades in the capitol.   
Filling Tobirama with his seed is a mark of its own. Any would-be shame for lacking stamina is left to the wayside, replaced with primal pride at claiming what is his. Vision glazed, body humming on the verge of overstimulation, he lays a hand overtop the one still splayed open on his chest, reaching with the other to join Tobirama’s desperate stroking to coax him over the edge.   
“All mine.” It’s rough, breathless, possessive. Filled with endless awe of the nyx so close to falling apart for him, _because_ of him.

Madara’s hand over his is firm yet gentle and it takes less than a half dozen strokes for Tobirama’s eyes to roll back in his head, orgasm hitting him with such force it drags the air from his lungs, hardly able to make so much as a quiet wheeze. His body bows forward until he has to force himself not to fold entirely, leaving room for his hips to buck in to their woven fingers to ride the sensations for as long as he possibly can.   
Only when the roaring in his ears goes quiet does he realize he is bent far enough forward that his forehead rests against his partner’s. Smoke and lightly singed material mingle with the scent of their love-making, the air around them heated and warmer than the autumn season calls for. His sheets will likely need replacing now and he’ll have to come up with some sort of lie about an accident with a candle or some such nonsense but he cares very little. Tobirama sighs as he deliberately loosens his muscles, relaxing gradually and sliding even farther forward to press down in to the crook of Madara’s neck, mouthing gently at the sweaty skin there while he rumbles his satisfaction.  
“I love you,” he whispers, languid and foggy in a way that lets the words come easier without the sheen of embarrassment emotions usually carry for him. “I wish you could stay. All I want now is to sleep but I fear we don’t have the time for that.”  
He’s tempted to push his luck though because the very idea of lifting himself off and cleaning away all traces of the one he loves, it’s not a pleasant thought. It never is. Madara is soft inside him now and a simple shift would separate them but he stubbornly presses down to prevent it in a wave of selfishness.   
Why shouldn’t they be allowed to have this every day? Why should they be denied what makes them happy?   
A smile curls the corners of his lips, still pressed against the side of Madara’s neck. He’s feeling very happy indeed at the moment. There’s nothing wrong with stretching this out for as long as he dares if it gets him just a few more cuddles.

Sleep sounds beyond heavenly. His mind latches onto that one word as he turns into hot wax, melting into the soft mattress beneath him. Tobirama is a blessed weight holding him down, the heat of them feeling like home, a fire in winter when the cool air around him kisses his sweat-skin cold.   
The moment is a touch ruined when his brain catches up a minute later, afterglow demanding he not move an inch warring with the logic of the situation. As much as they both want it, he can’t stay. No amount of wishing or prayers can change that simple fact.   
With that in mind, Madara stubbornly wraps his arms around Tobirama, burying his face in silver hair and scowling in that particular way his love likes to _incorrectly_ call a pout.   
“Just a few more minutes.” Surely they could afford that. But just to be sure Tobirama won’t protest, he starts running fingers through his hair, scratching at Tobirama’s scalp in the way that always leaves him a puddle of nyx.   
Both of them have responsibilities to return to, people and reports demanding their attention. A few minutes to lose himself to that foolish daydream, to imagine waking up next to the love of his life, no fear of nosy maids or guards finding them in each other’s arms, to be able to live and love together like he knows they never will - a few minutes more of this will hardly be enough but it’s all he can ask for, all he can have. And he’s just selfish enough to cheat to get them, reaffirming his feline analogy as Tobirama nuzzles into the affection and all but purrs as he does so. Even quite a bit after the few minutes have passed Madara refuses to let go, determined to pet and kiss the top of his head until he’s made to stop.

As relaxed as his body is, Tobirama’s mind has already sparked back to life and begun whirring with thoughts. He composes vague statements to throw around should anyone question what has been keeping them in conference so long and prepares himself to talk circles around any questions his father might have about the changes to his guard rotation that Madara will need to make once Hashirama takes the crown. A change in leadership will always bring the strange types to light and there is always someone who thinks a new king will be just unsteady enough to make chinks in the castle’s metaphorical armor.   
Honestly, whatever changes Madara wishes to make Tobirama will approve of without needing to be briefed. It was skill that got him to his position as Captain and it has been his good performance that keeps him where he is. There have been times when Tobirama has felt stifled by the amount of protection following his every step throughout the day but he has never doubted Madara’s word when the man declares it necessary, merely another inconvenience that comes with power. He’s been under guard since the day he was born and if by some unfortunate circumstance their relationship never comes to light then he will continue to be guarded until the day he dies.  
The racing of his thoughts does nothing to detract from the delicious pleasure of blunt fingernails scraping across his scalp. If ever they are finally able to live the way they want to, free from the fear of discovery and able to be at each other’s side whenever they wish, he hopes they find the time to do nothing but this for hours, laying together and trading simple touches. Whether here in this castle or somewhere far away where neither of their titles mean anything, the thought of reaching that goal gives Tobirama the strength to pull away with a reluctant sigh. Madara grumbles at the movement despite him being the one who insisted on ‘only a few more minutes’ so Tobirama appeases him with a soft kiss.   
“Will your troops not be waiting for you to return?”   
He himself has duties to return to, though none of them are anywhere near as appealing as the gorgeous phoenix spread out under him. Sometimes he despises his own need to be responsible.

The new recruits _are_ waiting for him, along with a no doubt furious air sprite ready to chew his ear off for leaving again. He grunts at the reminder, pulling Tobirama back down to savor the taste of him one last time, one final moment of peace before he has to be merely the captain of his guard once more.   
Not that it’s truly the last. Cleaned up and clothed once more, Madara steals a few more moments, though he has to swat away a certain wandering hand groping at his bottom.   
Tobirama doesn’t even have the decency to look sorry either.   
“Are you going to let me go or not? Already going to hear it from Yugai.” Scowling helps ease a bit of the pain of parting, as does knowing how truly important his work is. If leaving and doing his job ensures Tobirama’s safety it is worth any sacrifice and Madara’s already going through the mental checklist of his leftover duties for the day.

Tobirama waits until Madara’s attention is fixed on settling his clothing back in to place before he murmurs quietly under his breath, his words passing unheard. “I wish I didn’t have to, love.”   
He knows Madara has reservations about it but he knows there is little that will stop him from following through on his plan to come clean with Hashirama. Only once his brother is king, of course. Although even then, as much as the knowledge grates, he knows he may still have to wait for some time. Hashirama will need time to solidify his position before Tobirama will feel comfortable dropping any proverbial bombs on his eldest brother, he will need time to earn the respect of those who swear fealty to his reign and to prove that he has the capability of making good decisions. Tobirama is eager to be free of his own secrets but he knows he does not have the heart to ruin another’s life to better his own.  
Still, his heart is giddy to know that the time is finally coming. The two lovers dress in silence and before they leave Tobirama takes a moment to press Madara back against the door for a long, deep parting kiss. When they step out in to the hall he delights in the lingering flush just under the collar of the Captain’s uniform. Watching him walk away is as bittersweet as it always is but Tobirama distracts himself by turning his thoughts to his own duties, thoughts of the future tucked away yet never very far from mind.   
They _will_ have a chance to be together as they deserve, he is determined to see it so.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown
> 
>  

It’s a commonly - if quietly - held opinion that the High King is a stupid man, arrogant and reckless both with his life and with others’. He thinks too much of himself and not enough of those around him despite the fact that his very rank itself lays the responsibility of caring for several entire races squarely on his shoulders. In a long line of poor decisions it is hard to decide which of them has been his worst but this latest ranks somewhere in the high range for sheer arrogance if nothing else.   
Tobirama schools his expression to its usual neutral appearance and forces himself to breathe deeply as he stalks through the hallway, unwilling to cause panic among the staff. He’s seen the maids and the door guards react in all sorts of ways when he marches passed them with doom stamped across his brow and the last thing he wants is for one of them to think there is an imminent threat.   
Well, to be fair there is a threat, though it isn’t likely they’ll be made aware of it at all if the High King is to have his way. And since he is the king…  
But a poor king is he who would dismiss even the smallest possible threat to the safety of his people. Tobirama waits until his keen vision sees no one in the hall before him to pull his face in to a scowl, longing for the freedom of childhood when it would have been perfectly acceptable to throw a tantrum in expression of how irritated he is. Actually that’s a lie. Even at a young age he was expected to behave according to his auspicious rank but at least back then he would have been granted forgiveness for allowing his emotions to overcome him, let off with no more than another boring lecture.  
Movement catches his eye and Tobirama watches the snap of a very familiar cape rounding the corner up ahead. Just the man he’s been looking for.   
“Captain.” His voice is brisk and professional, only barely loud enough for Madara to hear him and peer back down towards this end of the hall. Something in his clandestine partner’s face is taut and reserved but he’ll have to address that later. It’s hard to think passed his own anger enough to even consider dealing with someone else’s at the moment.  
“We need to speak, come with me.”   
To make it clear that this is a serious conversation, he sets a course for the library. No one ever goes in to the dusty corners where his favorite history books are kept so they will have excellent privacy to discuss whatever they want but it is still too public to risk any sort of physical encounter beyond a few stolen kisses as they have dared to do on the occasions when his lover has to come drag him away from his studies. He assumes Madara has taken his point by the way his body grows tense to match his expression when he falls in to step behind his prince. 

As the day of the king’s official resignation grows closer and closer Madara has grown more and more desperate to find a good enough reason to convince Tobirama not to go through with his insane plan to go public with their relationship. Gut feelings hardly ever count for much with someone so logically minded, he knows as much from experience, but he’s yet to find anything more that can get through to his partner how dangerous it could be for the both of them.   
It’s through a conversation with Izuna, throwing their usual complaints at each other over breakfast at the barracks, that it finally dawns on Madara where he’s been wrong. That his own perspective has blinded him and hidden the real issues sitting right under his nose the entire time.   
By the time his schedule’s free it’s midday and his blood pressure has never been higher. His boots click loud against the halls as he storms through the palace, on the lookout for his prince to set them both straight on the situation once and for all. A few lower ranking guards take one look at him and scurry along their way, though he has little presence of mind to care much about how strongly his poor mood is being projected on those around him.   
The sound of his prince’s voice snaps him to attention. As glad as he always is to see him, he’s too high strung at the moment to notice much beyond the single gesture for him to follow. The same argument repeats in his head as they march back down the hall he’s just come from, Madara determined more than ever to speak his piece clearly and be done with it. No jumbled or blurted out words will get in his way - they have little time for misunderstandings with Hashirama’s inauguration just around the corner.   
That he’s being lead to the library instead of Tobirama’s private quarters hardly registers. That they’re alone is all that matters and as soon as Tobirama comes to a stop in some dusty corner of the library Madara’s speaking, feeling as though he might burst if he keeps the words in any longer.   
“Do you know how many times I was rejected for my position? _Why_ I was rejected for so long?” His tone is angrier than intended, though the anger isn’t directed at Tobirama. It’s rage at the corner they’ve been pushed into, frustration at himself for not realizing sooner who their decisions can affect beyond just them.

He’s had nothing in his head since halfway through the conversation with his father but mental static, angry phrases he dares not say aloud and opinions he can’t voice for fear of retribution. When he brought Madara here it was with the clear purpose of imparting information that, to him, should be counted as both important and immediate despite being rejected by the king himself as laughable.   
The sudden change of topic jars him just enough for his expression to clear and his eyes to blink once, twice, startled in to utter silence for a moment.   
“What?” he manages, confused.   
For a handful of wild seconds he is trying frantically to figure out what Madara’s promotion record has to do with the current threat to their national security. It takes until his lover begins speaking again for him to shake off the blinders of his own too strong focus and realize that apparently Madara does indeed have something to discuss as well.

Anger being his default setting isn’t necessarily going to work in his favor here. Knowing that, Madara takes a few deep breaths, clenching and unclenching one gloved fist to help ease the need for movement.   
“I was more than qualified for a promotion years before I was ever considered. Phoenixes weren’t seen as captain material - as _anything_ beyond front line fodder. But since I was appointed captain of your guard, three others have been promoted into the higher ranks, Izuna being one of them.”   
Long-winded explanations have never been his strong suit and the topic itself already has his jaw tight. Give him a sword and let him dance any day, let him spill blood and be a shield for the good of the kingdom. Words have failed him too often to be considered a decent weapon in his hands. Speeches and politics beyond who to defend and who to kill are best left to those born into it and, as many have been so eager to remind him, he is not one of those people.   
Desperately hoping to not have to continue on with his speech, Madara tries to convey how important this is through sheer willpower and facial expressions alone, ready to stare Tobirama down if need be to make his prince see reason.

Still reeling from the sudden shift of direction and not quite understanding what this has to do with anything that he sees as currently important, Tobirama furrows his brows.   
“Alright…”  
He is well aware of the stigma against the phoenix race, of course, though he has never been able to understand what anyone’s race has to do with their level of ability. If a person is trustworthy and skilled should that not count more towards them than whoever their parents happen to be? After Madara finally stepped up and _refused_ to go unacknowledged a few years back there have been some grudging improvements in the way the nobles see his kind. Not much but some. He hardly needs a recent history recap to jog his memory on that.   
On its own the progress has been heartening to see. And on a more personal level Tobirama remembers being incredibly grateful that the guard whose company he enjoyed the most was to become the captain of his personal unit. Even back then he found Madara to be irresistible both in mind and body, though without any hint that the man felt the same he had contented himself with the idea of watching and wishing, always close and yet forever too far away.   
None of that is new or relevant, however, so Tobirama pushes the memories away to cross his arms and tilt his head to one side with impatient curiosity, still with his own purpose in mind but now intrigued by whatever bee Madara has up in his bonnet.   
“What are you...getting at?”

It figures that the _one time_ Madara is counting on Tobirama to use that brilliant brain of his, he doesn’t. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging as he glares up at the ceiling, reminding himself once again that yelling will not improve the situation - and that Tobirama’s not done anything to deserve the anger licking in his veins.   
Not anger. Compounding desperation and dread, mixed over the weeks into a cocktail that has his gut twisting in on itself, making what little patience he normally has nonexistent.   
“When a guard’s potential is brought into question merely because of their phoenix blood _I’m_ the one they cite as reason against it.” It’s not self-important gloating, just mere fact. Madara had hardly meant to pave any path but his own when he bulled his way through the ranks, determined to prove his worth and talent to those that had dared to sneer at the phoenix they saw as lesser than them. Intent or not, however, it had happened anyway.   
Tilting his head back down, he stares steadily into Tobirama’s eyes, trying to not let the pain flaring up in his chest show, voice just barely above a harsh whisper to make sure he’s not overheard.   
“What happens to them when I fail? When the ‘star’ phoenix who proved them all wrong becomes the one who seduced and _tainted_ the second heir, broke his vow of servitude in favor of _ruining_ the one he was meant to protect?”   
It doesn’t matter that Hashirama won’t kill them. It doesn’t matter that Tobirama is willing to leave his life behind, to follow him into exile and banishment, stripped of title and all else to his name. Because it isn’t only their futures at stake.   
No matter how he wishes it wasn’t true, it can never be about just them. They will never be seen as two lovers running away together, equal in spirit and happy in the other’s arms. He will be painted the tainter, the phoenix lowlife who stole the prince, and it will be _Izuna_ and all those that follow who truly bear the punishment of his crimes.   
And Madara is willing to give Tobirama everything that he is - has given it to him, to do with as his prince sees fit - but he cannot, _will not_ sacrifice Izuna’s future for him when it need not be an option in the first place.

Deep in his gut something _twists_ and Tobirama scowls. He very much despises it when Madara comes up with an excellent counterpoint to one of his arguments. Why can’t he just be right all the time?  
And worse than that, he can see how important this is to the other. This isn’t something he can dismiss offhand without addressing, isn’t something he can set aside as inconsequential, not when he knows it will hurt his partner even before the consequences find them. His own agenda for their conversation isn’t far from mind but still he takes a few moments to scowl a little more deeply and let his mind race over this new thought. This is important to Madara and therefore it is important to him.   
With so little time to consider it he may have missed a few angles but his initial impression is surely not going to satisfy the other. He prepares for a little blowback even as he opens his mouth.   
“I don’t see what has you in such a panic.” He speaks slowly, carefully edging his tone to avoid sounding confrontational in the hopes that Madara will recognize that he isn’t trying to simply get his way, that this is his honest opinion. “Your deeds are reflective, that is true, but after all they’ve done in their own positions I can’t see one misstep, no matter how big, forcing the rest of them back from all they’ve gained in their own rights.”  
With a scoff Tobirama forces himself to hold Madara’s gaze despite how contagious his discomfort is.   
“Izuna has saved Itama’s life more than once; that won’t simply be forgotten because you fell in love with ‘the wrong person’. Revealing our relationship might make things a little more difficult for him for a while, he may be under stricter scrutiny as they wait for him to follow in your footsteps or what have you, but isn’t it worth it? I’m certain they will see their error in time.”  
Saying it out loud circles him back to his thoughts from a week or so before about making Hashirama’s life more difficult by revealing themselves too early but he stubbornly tells himself that this isn’t the same. If Hashirama loses the court’s trust they can overthrow his rule in an instant, possibly even reinstate Butsuma in the case neither of their younger brothers are deemed fit to rule. If Izuna loses a little trust he’ll have to deal with a few extra shifts and others watching his behavior more closely for a short while. What’s the big deal?  
It’s possible he is seeing through his privileged rose-tinted glasses again but he honestly can’t see how.

“ _No, it’s_ not _worth it_!” It’s all he can manage to snap out, sputtering at how dismissive Tobirama is of his concerns, _of his brother_. Heat lashes out as he fumes, the smell of smoke making him step away from the shelves, aware enough to avoid burning the priceless books but not to catch the flicker of hurt his response causes.   
Space. He needs space to think, to _breathe_ , and he’s not getting that here. Leaving is a non-option though, no matter that it would give him time to calm down and think rationally. All he can do is turn his back on Tobirama, pretend he’s not there for a minute. Just one minute to breathe through the red in his vision, quiet the storm of his thoughts enough to articulate himself properly.   
Being overprotective isn’t that negative of a trait when one’s job is literally to protect people. It’s something he’s certainly been called in the past, Izuna being the one most often targeted by his ‘overbearing’ nature, and he’s sure he’d call him that again now.   
Can anyone _really_ fault him for this though? Wanting to keep his brother safe from unnecessary threats? Izuna has already died in his arms once, stabbed by some high species bastard that found it amusing to see a phoenix burst into flames - nearly ending Madara’s career before it began when he tried to strangle the prick in turn.   
Thinking about that isn’t helping. Staring at a fixed point on the floor does a bit, studying the patterns there until his lip curls at a misplaced colored tile, giving him something other than Tobirama to throw his anger towards as he speaks.   
“You have my life, you know that. My everything. It’s yours to do with as you please.” One fish clenches at his side, Madara turning back just enough to meet Tobirama’s eyes. “But you’re _not_ going to gamble with my brother’s future - _with his life_.”   
Ordering a prince around is far from the smartest thing he’s ever done. It could get him killed if this was anyone other than Tobirama and at the very least fired if someone happens to overhear him.  
He can’t seem to find it in him to care about all that.

Knowing Madara well enough to know that reaching out to him now will not end well does not stop Tobirama’s hand from rising, half crossing the space between them yet stopping to hover just behind the shoulders turned away from him. He understands why Madara has turned away. Intellectually he knows that this is Madara’s way of asking for space without storming away from the conversation entirely.   
It still hurts. Partly because any separation between them has always ached deep inside where no self-soothing words will reach. But also partly because it is him that made the phoenix turn away from him, his own actions, his own poorly chosen words. Hadn’t he just admitted to himself that this is clearly important to the man?  
Closing his eyes, Tobirama takes a moment for himself as well. What has he missed? What angle is Madara looking at this issue from that he hasn’t seen?  
“I don’t see this as a gamble on his life,” he begins quietly. “We had planned to wait until it was Hashirama on the throne. You know Hashirama almost as well as I do, you know he’s not the sort of man to allow that to happen. If and when we reveal ourselves I honestly believe that no harm will come to your brother - nor will he lose his hard-earned position.”  
Bringing his hand back to instead run it through his hair, little regard for how it always makes him look windswept and messy in a way royalty shouldn’t be, Tobirama allows himself a soft sigh.   
“If all he suffers is a little extra scrutiny from people who don’t even matter, _isn’t_ that worth it? Worth our own freedom? Our own happiness? Don’t you think...Izuna would want you to seek your own happiness?”  
The question hesitates because he doesn’t wish to sound manipulative, is honestly curious. He doesn’t have nearly enough contact with Izuna to guess at how the man thinks and he’s not entirely sure whether Madara has ever hinted at their relationship to his sibling. 

‘We.’ ‘If and when.’ Those words have him turning back in an instant, snarling, ready to remind Tobirama _yet again_ how he’s been against this from the beginning.  
It has _never_ been their plan. It will never _be_ their plan. Because Madara has never been given a choice about it.   
He finds himself swallowing back his venom instead.   
Tobirama doesn’t resemble a closed-off man in that moment. Doesn’t look like someone arguing to get their way, stubborn or stuck-up or anything of the sort. He looks _tired_ , hair a mess and lips tight in that way that tells him just how uncomfortable he is with their argument.   
Except... _they’re_ not arguing.   
Madara grinds his teeth, glaring over at one of the dusty tomes off to the side. Now that he’s paying a bit more attention, nothing in Tobirama’s tone suggests he’s arguing. His wording has been poor, questions beyond infuriating, and the fact that he doesn’t understand is absolutely - he can’t even _think_ of a word strong enough to describe how badly it makes him want to scream in frustration.   
But Tobirama’s _trying_ to understand and that might not make his anger disappear but it at least means he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at.   
With a deep inhale through his nose Madara closes his eyes, taking a minute to ground himself. Meditation has never worked perfectly for him but it’s enough to keep him from snapping further even if his anger continues to simmer beneath the surface after he’s done settling his nerves.   
Hashirama can’t be everywhere and wouldn’t be making every decision. And we both know not everything happens with the king’s consent.” A gesture between them to prove his point. He finds no reason to state the obvious out loud.   
“The people who would be giving him that ‘little extra scrutiny’ _do_ matter, as well - they’d be his fellow guards, people he should be able to trust with his back. They’d be snobby ass high species who could spit in his face or _stab him_ with no repercussion. They could be _your brothers_ , his princes and king, one of whom he’s charged to protect and who might no longer _trust_ him - and a guard who’s lost trust doesn’t keep their job for long.”   
Giving a final huff, he crosses his arms and glares back at the books, firmly telling his blood pressure to cool it before he sets the priceless library collection on fire.

Pinching his lips, Tobirama stares at Madara hard with narrowed eyes for several long seconds. No matter how he twists and turns his thoughts he can’t help but assimilate this new angle and come to the same conclusion.   
“You know, I really hate it when you’re right. Because it means I’m _wrong_.”   
Ignoring Madara’s flabbergasted look, Tobirama pinches the bridge of his nose.   
“Look, can we put this aside for now? It’s not - it’s _important_ , it will always be important until we finally reach some sort of accord on the matter and clearly we’re nowhere close yet - but we have bigger fish to fry at the moment. We can talk about this later.”  
It’s always later. Always again. No matter how many times they come back to this subject they have never agreed on it, not in the slightest. Though this _is_ the first time in a long time that either of them have brought up any new arguments and he is shamefully a little glad that he has more pressing matters to distract them. He’ll have some time to sit and think about what Madara has said in more detail instead of trying to react to it on the fly as he so despises doing. In a perfect world he would always have time to sit and think through his problems, look at them from every angle and give proper considerations to all possible actions.   
Right now he has a different problem and the whole point of dragging them both in to the library had been to get Madara’s help considering those possible actions. Before his lover has time to interrupt him again and continue their argument he pushes onwards to say his own piece.   
“There are rumors of humans crossing the borders, possibly even infiltrating the capitol. My father dismisses the notion that they could pose a threat to us but I don’t. Humans are warmongering _beasts_. If they’re truly here then we should be wary. We should be ready.”

Madara might be quiet for the next several minutes but it doesn’t mean his mind is. Humans are nothing to scoff at. Growing up in the outskirts, far away from the capitol and inner city, has taught him that much and the mere mention of them is more than enough to set aside their argument for later. Even without personal experience with the beasts, as Tobirama has rightfully called them, he’s met plenty enough people who have to know how serious the situation could become.   
The king dismissing them isn’t surprising, no matter how infuriating it might be. He often overlooks the importance of things right under his nose. It means they’ll have to be more than cautious since the guards not under Madara’s command will not have the appropriate orders given to them. Then again, if he has a personal chat with the other captains he might be able to salvage the situation.   
“I’ll escort you to wherever after this.” He’s only paying half attention to what he’s saying, eyes flickering as he stares off into nothing, running over the guard shifts and reforming them to make up for the new recruits’ lack of experience, the meetings he’s aware of that Tobirama will need to attend, his own responsibilities. “I don’t want you walking anywhere without a guard until this is resolved. Or retiring without your quarters being checked. At least one guard with you in meetings as well - if they’re too confidential, I’ll stand guard outside the room myself.”

If they weren’t just so out of sorts with each other he might slip in a comment about only wanting Madara to be inside his chambers but it just doesn’t feel appropriate at the moment. He’s never been all that great with humor and this is one joke that he knows will fall flat before he can even get it out. Better to just not try at all.  
Madara’s expression is already far away with schedules and plans, probably trying to recall the castle blueprints in his head to decide where best to position his men, and the concentration on his face is rather distractingly adorable. Tobirama envies him how quickly he can sink in to a subject when it is important enough. His own mind latches on to a subject just as quickly but there is always half a dozen other thoughts running in the background, laying in wait until he has the time to spare for them to pounce once more.   
Listening to his Captain plan out his every move for the next several weeks, Tobirama rather deliberately bites down on any protests that try to come out. He would prefer to keep what little freedoms and privacies he has but he knows that security is Madara’s job and he is _good_ at it. What he asks for is usually what is best. Tobirama knows his life is in capable hands and the last thing he wants is to pile more problems in to those hands by being difficult.   
With that in mind he dares at last to reach out and lay his fingertips against Madara’s wrist, establishing the contact his heart yearns for without demanding reciprocation.   
“I don’t want us to fight,” he says. “I hate fighting with you. Just...we need to figure this out between us. We should talk about this the next time we can slip away to the lake, although who knows when it will be safe enough for that.”   
The reality of the situation weighs heavily on his shoulders as quickly as that when it finally occurs to him how difficult it will be to find a bit of alone time for them to be together over the next little while.

“Not until there’s no sign of any humans for at least a few weeks. Even if I’m there with you, it would only take one of them being lucky to get a hit in.” It’s both a gift and a curse that the new recruits came in when they did. The boost in numbers will help but their training still takes precious time and resources away when he needs it the most.   
He doesn’t even notice he’s taken Tobirama’s hand, holding his fingers loosely, too busy cutting his sleep schedule back in his head in hopes it might solve some of the missing slots in the new rotation he’s planning. Assuming no sudden illness or injuries, he’s almost certain he can make it work. They’ll be stretched a little thin and he’ll be running off more coffee than usual but if it keeps his prince safe that’s all that matters.   
That settled, he gives a firm nod, blinking a few times to focus back on the man in front of him. “Where are you headed after this?”   
It’s halfway through the question that he realizes what Tobirama was saying when he mentioned their cove and he turns his head away with a huff - this time from the smallest twinge of shame wriggling around in his gut.   
“And I don’t- well, you know...like fighting with you either.” It feels wrong to phrase it like that knowing Tobirama wasn’t really trying to argue with him this time. Finally noticing the hand linked in his own he gives it a light squeeze, not able to admit he was in the wrong but wanting to apologize in some small way.   
Holding hands isn’t exactly a perfect apology. It still makes him feel a bit better, knowing that no matter how they may fight one of them will always be willing to bridge that distance. That Tobirama is willing to try even after he’d lost his temper.   
“You know I love you.” He’s not used to feeling embarrassed by that admission, though it’s less the feeling behind it and more knowing how close he’d been to spewing some rather nasty things only a few minutes before. Maybe Izuna had been on to something when he suggested looking into more ways to manage his anger.

Hearing the words relaxes muscles he hasn’t even realized are tense.   
“I do know,” he assures Madara. The connection between them eases his heart enough that he is able to muster a hesitant smile. “You wouldn’t yell at me the way you do if you didn’t care for me.”  
Obviously Madara yells at everybody he’s allowed to, that’s just his way, but there’s a difference between frustration at someone’s stupidity and frustration that someone is being careless with a life he treasures. Tobirama is forever grateful to be treasured by this man. Even when he himself is angry over their continued arguments about the same old subject he knows that Madara only fights so hard with him because it’s important for the future of their relationship.  
A future that grows more and more threatened the longer Butsuma’s ass stays in that overly elaborate seat. Tobirama can only hope that his father won’t get any nonsense in to his head about marrying off his second son while he still has the power to do so. He’s not sure how many would survive the fuss he’s prepared to kick up if that ever comes to pass.   
“In answer to your question, I am expected to meet with the Lord Hyuga to discuss the envoy being sent to the Faeries, though I’m sure his lordship will be showing up as fashionably late as he always does. There is time if you have other duties to attend and need to find me another escort.”   
He very much hopes his answering squeeze of their linked hands and his unsteady smile are enough of a white flag. Apologies are neither of their strong suits. 

Madara tilts his head back to glare up at Tobirama, though there’s no heat to it. “What, drag you all over the palace just to hand you off to someone else? Waste of time,” he scoffs, flicking his free hand as if to wave the ridiculous notion away.   
For a few seconds he takes careful stock of their location, listening to the sound of nothing around them. Making sure they’re still fully alone - like he should have been doing the whole time they have been here, really, though there’s no helping his past inattentiveness now. One can only learn from their mistakes and be more vigilant in the future.   
Once he’s certain no one is around he hesitates further, shifting his weight back and forth until finally he takes a step forward, not quite up against Tobirama but in his personal space still.   
“How much time do we have, koi?” Reaching up with his free hand, he brushes the back of his fingers over Tobirama’s cheek, flooded with relief when his prince leans into it. Without waiting for an answer, prompted on by the flutter of long white lashes, he whispers between them, “Would it be alright if…” A deep breath, if only to calm the nerves he knows he shouldn’t have.   
“Kiss me?”

“Always.”   
Relief floods through him in a hot wave as he pulls Madara closer and dips his head to press their lips together. He hates the thought of parting without making things right between them and to have Madara take the first steps makes that infinitely easier.   
Suddenly the Lord Hyuga’s habit of showing up to everything late is less of an annoyance and more of a boon, an unexpected gift of time to bolster them through the cold days of separation ahead. He’ll have to find a way to subtly thank the man - or, on second thought, perhaps not. Tobirama owes nothing to someone so idiotic. If he wants to take advantage of someone else’s bad habits then he will and he’ll do so without shame.   
Their kisses are soft and slow, wordless apologies as they test the waters to make sure both of them are willing to forgive and forget this latest spat. And then Madara gives off a soft breathy moan and Tobirama responds in kind, pressing him back in to the shelves of books, one hand cupped around the back of his head in case he needs to catch any stray flames that may or may not flicker to life. Someday he will figure out a way to fireproof the whole world so they can stop worrying about that.   
Under no circumstances could he ever think of changing Madara in any way. The world will simply have to change for him if Tobirama has any say in the matter.  
“I have somewhat more than ten minutes at most,” he says in a low voice. “Unless you have any objections, I very much plan to use those ten minutes to remind you of who you belong to. Just in case you find yourself forgetting over the next few weeks, of course.”   
The way Madara melts in to him is satisfying, delicious and intriguing, and he knows he’ll be thinking of this later during his nightly struggle to fall asleep alone. 

Ever true to his word, Tobirama has him breathless by the time they pull away, mind pleasantly blank save for a stray thought on how grateful he is that the captain’s uniform doesn’t leave his arousal on full display for the whole palace to see. He doesn’t even have it in him to chide Tobirama on that smug grin of his, narrowing his eyes and grumbling more for the principle of the matter than anything else.   
It’s with great reluctance that he leads his prince back to the entrance of the library, making sure their clothes are straightened and in order before leaving the dusty history books and scrolls behind. Once they’re out in the halls he lets Tobirama take the lead, admiring the view for a moment or two before shaking his head clear to focus on the task at hand.   
The threat of humans at the forefront of his mind, he keeps his eyes sharp, running back over his plans and triple checking them. He manages to come up with two back-ups by the time he’s bowing and leaving Tobirama in the care of the guards already stationed for the meeting. With a clipped, formal farewell, Madara marches off to find the captain of Hashirama’s guard first, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he goes.   
By the end of the day he plans to have the palace on an informal lockdown, no one in or out without news coming back to him. Not a single human will be setting even one _toe_ into _his_ territory.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown  
> Hashirama: Officer_Jennie
> 
>  **Note:** Alright so one of us is stupid and we're not saying which one ~~raendown~~ but this got updated on the wrong day. So. Oops.

The autumn chill has finally settled in the air, crisp despite the afternoon light filtering in through the windows. Never one to feel at home in the cold, Hashirama pulls one of his many layers tighter around him, setting a brisk pace while keeping his eyes and ears peeled for trouble.  
Sneaking off from his guards used to be easy. He’d gotten quite good at hiding from them in his childhood, watching them from his secret places as they frantically searched for the first heir to the throne, desperate enough for any attention from his father to not care how they or he would get in trouble for it later.  
Now, with the kingdom his to rule and the threat of humans closing in around them he’s watched closer than ever. Even knowing he can get his guards out of any trouble he might cause, guilt wriggles around inside of him, making his stomach queasy and shoulders droop as he peers around yet another corner.  
Tobirama will lecture him for ditching out on meeting with the head of agriculture no matter that he’s not actually _needed_ there. And Mito will surely break out The Look, something that might last only a handful of seconds but he’s come to find a thousand times worse than any half-hour lecture his brother could ever throw his way.  
He continues sneaking towards the barracks anyway, a growing suspicion over the past few months finally leaving him too restless to ignore it.  
As he approaches the training grounds, he ducks for cover in the shadows, sure to keep close to the walls and out of sight while he finds a good hiding spot to spy on the two men currently trading blows. Sure enough, when he peeks out he sees Tobirama with the captain of his guard, Madara feigning a strike to the left, giving nothing but a sharp nod when Tobirama sees through his movements.  
They’re the only people out here but they’re the ones he was looking for anyway. With the memory of a certain all too familiar glint in Madara’s eyes at the forefront of his mind, Hashirama settles in to wait, lips turned down with a stubborn desire to know exactly what might have been going on under his nose for the gods only know how long.

Sweat drips from his forehead despite the chill but Tobirama ignores it. As long as there’s no danger of it dripping in to his eye where it will sting and blind then he has better things to do with his hands, things like lifting his tired arm to block yet another blow. Their blades are dulled for practice combat, not intended to be used as actual weapons, but it will still hurt if he allows his opponent to get a hit in.  
He knows this from very painful experience. Even years after the bruises have healed they still manage to be an effective reminder of why he should always keep up with his lessons.  
Madara grunts in approval when he spins out of the way of an attack rather than try to block without proper room to do so. They are several years in to this clandestine relationship and this is far, far from the first time they’ve practiced together yet still Tobirama feels something like pride straightening his shoulders and holds his head just a little higher. Earning praise from the paramount sword master in the capital city strokes his ego. Earning praise from his stern lover strokes other fires. It’s with a lighter heart and a quicker step that he spins back to face his opponent and continues their battle.  
Finally he sees his opening and darts forward in a flurry of dull steel, squinting passed the glint of sunlight off their blades to study the way Madara avoids his attacks. Learning by example is a perfect excuse for closely examining every shift of the hard muscles before him.  
He’s always been good at multitasking. If he wants to admire his lover’s body in the middle of a spar then he will. It’s not as though there is anyone around to force him in to hiding his admiration after all; in fact, if he plays his cards right then a bit of open interest could be used to his advantage. Madara is so easy to distract sometimes. With a wicked grin he waits until Madara falls back to resettle his stance before deliberately dragging his eyes down the man’s form.  
Formal uniform discarded for a tighter fitting practice outfit, more skin on display than if he were dressed for his duties rather than training. Sweat beading on his brow and rolling down the lines of his exposed arms. Muscles tensed and prominent as he holds himself ready to defend against the next salvo. Dark eyes shadowed and narrow, concentration and the joy of battle alight in their depths.  
Delicious.

He hates it when Tobirama does that.  
Madara has never really payed attention to the way others look at him, not beyond whether or not they might be a threat. For all he knows there may have been dozens of men and women over his lifetime that have tried to devour him in such a fashion, to leave him stripped and naked with their eyes alone.  
None of the rest have ever succeeded if any have tried, ruby eyes dragging down his body and causing a flush of interest, that smug grin sending an involuntary shudder down his spine. Twirling his blade distracts Tobirama at least, the reflective flash of light pulling that scorching gaze away for a desperately needed moment to focus and keep himself calm. Were they not out in the open he would greatly appreciate the attention but Tobirama has always been the bolder of the two when it comes to such obvious displays of desire.  
His strike comes out of nowhere and a little too late Madara realizes his mistake. Not quite disarmed but sword knocked out of the way enough to be useless, he’s unable to do much better than block the subsequent swing with his forearm, grinding his teeth as he staggers backwards.  
That bruise is not going to be pretty.  
Not quite sure how to respond to the tactic used against him - torn between pride at his practical student and sudden jealousy at the thought of Tobirama using his bedroom eyes on anyone else _for any reason_ \- he responds almost immediately with another feign, moving in much closer than Tobirama will anticipate to jab an elbow into his side.  
When Tobirama is the one stumbling back, winded from the blow, Madara takes a second to shove the sweaty mass of hair back over his shoulder, both grateful for the cool air at his neck and already reminiscing over the blessed feel of the beating sunlight in the summer months. Phoenixes have never been meant for the cold, no matter how mild.  
Someday, he’ll have to teach Tobirama how to brawl and fight dirty. There’s never the guarantee that his opponents won’t, since not all assassins hail from higher families. But for the time being swords will do and he gives his prince a moment to catch his breath before raising his blade in question, asking if he’s good to continue.

Tobirama has time to grin and nod in return before movement in the corner of his eye makes them both go stiff, equally startled to be interrupted. He thanks the entire pantheon that he hasn’t gone any further yet with his flirtations. All the filthy ways he knows how to be distracting, dirty little tricks he very much planned to use to win this fight, absolutely none of them are appropriate for anyone else to see. Even knowing they are in a public area and could not have followed through on any of the promises such flirtations would imply anyway, it’s still irritating to bank the embers of his growing arousal and assume the stiff countenance of a spoiled prince as they turn to see who has arrived.  
At first glance he doesn’t recognize either of these men - no, one of them is a woman, hair cut short and body androgynous under the bulk of her chestplate. Without any visible signs of shifting or magic it’s impossible to tell what their true race is offhand and the fitful wind in the courtyard blows their scent away downwind. But they are both wearing the uniform of the castle guards, clearly they’re a couple of those new recruits Madara keeps talking about, so Tobirama sweeps his eyes over them just enough to memorize their faces. He’ll have to get used to seeing them around anyway and nothing discourages loyalty quite like a noble who can’t even remember the faces of his own guards.  
Lowering his sword and bringing his body to a resting stance, Tobirama indicates with a jerk of his chin that he will allow the pause until Madara has dealt with whatever it is his soldiers need. It is easy enough to shift his weight on to one foot and assume the haughty pout of an impatient noble. Just because he wants them to be loyal doesn’t mean he wants to get too chummy. Madara is all the social circle he needs most days; if he needs more company he has three brothers and an entire army of cousins to choose from.  
Eyes drifting off to one side as though he has better things to think about, he watches from the corner of one eye with a curiosity that someone is a position of power such as his cannot afford to ignore. 

Something that Madara’s always prided himself on is his excellent recall. Knowing without having to physically check any blueprints the exact number of corridors in each wing of the palace, able to strategically place his guards through memory alone in vantage points over the grounds, placing names and faces on people he’s only met in passing.  
It’s how he knows at first glance he’s never met these guards before or even seen them out on patrol. A quick once over assures him their uniforms are in order, the weapons at their side standard issue, though they’ve clearly not been around long enough to get more than hand-me-downs. Either of them, since their belts are strapped tighter than normal to keep the uniform together.  
He steps forward to speak with them at the jerk of Tobirama’s chin, though something causes him a bit of hesitation. Because his instincts protest any other position, he puts himself between the newcomers and his prince, ignoring the social faux pas of turning his back to a royal.  
“What is it?” There’s no need to beat around the bush; no one would interrupt Tobirama and himself without having business, though what a lower ranking guard from a different regiment might need from him is unknown.  
Has one of his fellow captains gotten new recruits as well? They are often used for the more menial tasks like running errands, though sending two would be a bit overkill.  
It’s the woman who speaks up, voice drawling in an accent he can’t quite place while she rubs at the back of her neck. “Come to relieve you of duty, is all. You’re needed for patrol.”  
“Patrol?” He pitches his voice louder, hoping Tobirama’s paying attention. Taking a second to wipe the sweat from his brow, he purposely loosens his muscles, cursing his luck and longing for the weight of a real sword in hand. “Did the captain send you then?”  
In his soft leathers, without his cloak or traditional uniform, one would have to know Madara is a captain not to mistake him for a regular guard. When the woman nods her head it’s still not certain that’s what’s happening, though his gut tells him there will be blood soon.  
“Odd that the captain’s switching up the schedule.” He jabs a thumb in gesture behind him, trying to sound more exasperated than suspicious. “She put me in charge of the prince all afternoon.”

A test that easy means that Madara already expects them to fail. Tobirama tilts his chin farther up with a snooty expression and studies the pair a little more closely in his peripherals, knowing how easy it is for the lesser ranks to dismiss a spoiled prince once they think he isn’t listening. He can’t imagine how stupid they have to be not to realize they’re speaking _to_ the captain of his guard but surely they haven’t half a brain between them because the man nods along with his partner and holds out both of his hands in a helpless gesture.  
“We’re just doing as she told us to, can’t say I know what’s on her mind.” He even sounds tired and irritated the way a low ranking soldier does when they feel like the higher ups are jerking them around for no reason.  
And yet...and yet he failed that test. Suspicion settles like rot in his gut. Not one of the Captains currently serving in the castle are female, not since his cousin Touka left to oversee some border skirmish or another. Butsuma was glad to see her go, Tobirama recalls, and not only because she ‘stains’ their family by her choice to serve with the military ranks but also because Butsuma’s views on women have never been all that complimentary. It’s one of the many messes Hashirama has been working to clean up in the short time since he took the throne and sent their father packing off to the Isle of Eien.  
For this pair to believe that the Captain they ostensibly spoke to is female they would either have to be blind or stupid - or they are lying. Tobirama is willing to place his bets on that last option, which can’t mean anything good. He does his best to keep his movements slow and subtle as he imitates the preparations he can see Madara already making, loosening his muscles and shifting until his arm hangs in such a way that the sword in his hand could almost be considered ready for battle.  
It rankles that Madara has already placed himself squarely in harm’s way, even more so that to shift his position now will only draw attention to the fact that they have both noticed something is amiss. All he can do for the moment is wait to see these strangers’ next move and follow Madara’s lead.

In Madara’s honest opinion it’s better to punch first and ask questions later. He’s confident enough that these two can’t match his skill, though having no real weapon on hand and the last several hours of intense training keep him cautious. Not to mention how little he knows of his opponents: species, their true numbers, potential hidden weapons, all things that can easily turn the tide against him.  
All he knows at the moment is that these two are almost certainly impostors and that they’re attempting to get Tobirama on his own. That’s enough to have him stepping forward with a put-upon sigh, an off-handed complaint about the wishy washy nature of his supposed superiors half grumbled out before he’s lifting his sword to crash the handle into his nearest opponent.  
It doesn’t do nearly the damage he wanted it to, the woman clearly more prepared than he’d thought. Still, it connects with her arm as she attempts to duck out of the way, and Madara takes the few seconds it earns him to swipe at the man as well, hoping to put an end to any potential plot of sneaking past him to get at Tobirama.  
The first falls easily, one misstep leading to their side wide open for an attack, and Madara crushes enough ribs with his blunt sword to bring him to his knees. Another hit to the neck and he’s down, dead or otherwise unconcerning at the moment while he turns back to the woman, ignoring her bared teeth in favor of stepping away from the unconscious man at his feet.  
Clashing steel rings through the air, Madara’s eyes widening, head jerking to find the source. Two more false guards have come out of the shadows, already facing off against Tobirama, no doubt thinking a pampered prince will make an easy mark. It’s a common misconception that works in his favor at least, though how long he’ll have that particular advantage is not certain.  
His moment of distraction doesn’t go unpunished. It’s all the woman needs to draw a hidden dagger, throwing herself forward to drive it into his chest.  
They stagger backwards, Madara thrown off balance by near blinding pain and the added weight of another person on him. He snarls as he finds his balance, managing to grip her neck before she finds hers as well and snaps it, her deadweight dropping off of him and hitting the ground heavy.  
Fire spreading out of his veins tells him all he needs to know. Smoke comes off of his skin, his limbs sluggish as he forces himself to turn towards Tobirama. There’s nothing he can do to help his prince now and all he can think is how they really should’ve come up with a contingency plan for if he dies in battle with no other guards around to protect Tobirama.  
Something to discuss later, if his prince survives. And Madara prays to all the known and unknown gods that he does as his strength leaves him.

The scent of smoke in his nostrils barely registers at first, as commonplace as it is when one spends so much time in the company of a hot-headed phoenix. Madara’s very being is connected to the fire within. It’s not much of a surprise to catch hints of it now during the adrenaline rush of a surprise attack.  
It isn’t until he parries a well controlled swing from one of the men who leapt from the bushes, dancing to one side for a new angle of attack, that he has a moment to flick his eyes over to where his lover stands. Or should stand. The fact that Madara is staggering, listing to one side, takes several precious seconds to process and several more to understand. Their eyes meet and then…  
Flames. Hot and sudden they rush forth, bursting from underneath Madara’s skin to consume him in an instant with nary a scream or protest. Their attackers cry out in shock and their hesitation gives Tobirama enough time to stare in horror as his beloved partner transforms from a man in to a raging inferno right before his very eyes. Within moments they die out just as quickly as they rose up and he is left with nothing but a pitifully small pile of ashes on the ground, defiant of the wind around them. Time itself feels as though it drags by slowly as he struggles to comprehend the impossibility before him, gaze riveted to the remains of pride and love and all that they had built together.  
He doesn’t realize he is screaming until he feels the hot tears rolling down his cheeks, almost painful in their contrast to the crisp autumn air. The men he had just been fighting flinch when he turns back to them with more rage in his veins than he has ever felt in his entire life.  
They took him. These beastly pretenders took what is his. What belongs to him, what should have _always_ been his. He can feel the trembling of his body but the practice sword in his hand is rock steady when he raises it, lips peeled back to expose his teeth in a vicious animal snarl. Instinct takes over and when he scents the air this time he is close enough to catch the faint stench of human underneath the lingering smell of whoever those uniforms have been stolen from. Blood lust stirs and roils in his gut like nausea.  
Logic tells him he needs one of these men alive to question them on how they got in here and what their plans were, whether there are others working with them, but it isn’t logic he listens to. Tobirama throws himself at the remaining pair with so little finesse he chokes back a sob at the thought that Madara would cringe to see his form now, sloppy and disorganized with little care for the openings he leaves in his guard. Not that it matters; fury and pain like he’s never known give him a strength that would terrify him in any other circumstance and drive him in to a flurry of attacks quick enough to push both of his opponents back lest the dulled edge of his blade crack their skulls.  
In the end he can’t say what he did to them. One moment he is little better than a beast screaming his tumultuous emotions in their face and thirsting for their blood around his teeth. The next he is standing over two more dead bodies, one with their head displaced at such an angle he suspects he got a good hit on their spine and the other with a blade that should not be able to pierce shoved clean through the chest. He dismisses them both with no more than a shuddering breath.  
Forcing himself to turn and face the remains of the only man he ever loved is one of the hardest things he has ever had to do. His mind is oddly blank in a way he is unfamiliar with, unable to reach for the logic that dangles just out of reach. The only thought in his mind is _gone, gone, gone, gonegonegonegonegone-_  
His lungs gasp for air as he falls to his knees by Madara’s remains, unsure and uncaring of how he crossed the space between them. When he reaches for the ashes he sees the way his fingers are shaking and stops, clutches them back to his chest, curls his body down until he is as small as he feels in that moment. Gone, his mind whispers again. Madara is gone and there will be no more evenings spent by the lake in secret bliss, no more meetings in dark shadows, no more stolen kisses, no more fights about freedom, no more bickering or making love or running fingers through hair or meeting eyes across the room - no more anything. His heart lies in ashes before him as surely as Madara does.  
Soft footsteps behind him cut through the sound of his own mind screaming - or is that him? Is the sound of a wounded animal him or is that only his imagination? - and Tobirama twists to one side with his fingers curling in to claws, more than prepared to tear the very throat from any other humans who wish to try their luck in his so called weakest hour.  
But it is only Hashirama. The High King looks small in a way as he steps out of the shadows to where his brother mourns a loss he cannot possibly comprehend. How he came to be here is not something Tobirama cares to even wonder about at the moment. That their precious secret has been discovered barely crosses his mind. All he can do is continue to kneel on the ground as his breath shudders and hot tears continue to roll unchecked, staring up at his eldest brother like a child looks to their parents.  
‘Fix this,’ he wants to say. ‘Make it better. Make it all go away.’  
He says nothing. If he opens his mouth he is sure the only sound he could possibly make now would be to scream again and so he sits and he stares.  
And he is broken.

Never in his life has Hashirama born witness to such anguish. Seeing Tobirama in such a way - curled up as if to hold himself together, wide-eyed, quiet sobs shaking his frame like he is a small child once more, staring up at him as if begging him to make it all better - tears at his chest in a way he’ll never forget. Knowing he could have done nothing to help, with no weapons or training of any sort, only hollows out his heart more.  
His scream of sheer pain and horror echoes in the air around them still, Hashirama’s vision blurring as he kneels next to Tobirama. Not as his king, not as a man he should respect or that would demand he pull himself together. As his older brother, to comfort him, to take his face in both hands and try in vain to wipe away the tears that stream down his cheeks.  
“Otouto…”  
That one word breaks the dam, his arms soon filled with the mess of Tobirama’s broken heart. He’s running his fingers through silver hair in the next moment, murmuring nonsensical comforts as he used to when they were both still in their single digits, both knowing why Tobirama would be hurt by this but unsure why he’s hurt _this_ much.  
He’s certainly found the answer to his suspicions, though far from any way he’d hoped to. No one should have to see a loved one fall in battle - or any other way, for that matter. Even if Madara is a phoenix the shock alone of seeing him die must be overwhelming, no matter that he won’t stay-  
His eyes widen a fraction, hand coming up to brush the bangs out of Tobirama’s face.  
“Otouto, you...you do _know_ he’s not really dead, right? He’ll come back. He’s not gone for good.”

Jerking upright so quickly his back audibly cracks, Tobirama stares at his sibling with wide eyes and hardly dares to draw his next breath. With what little willpower he has left he forces the panic rushing through him down until he can properly take in the older man’s words. Consider them. Process their meaning.  
“What..?”  
Not gone. The screaming in his mind dies down to a fading whimper until finally he can think. Not gone. Dead for now but not dead forever. _Not gone forever_.  
Madara is a phoenix and Tobirama can’t understand how he could ever forget what that means. A phoenix may die a thousand deaths and always they will rise from the ashes again, as is their nature, caught in a cycle of rebirth very few things have the power to interrupt. How long it will take and what condition he will be left in afterwards are things he’s never bothered to learn, arrogant on his love’s behalf that nothing could ever step so far inside Madara’s guard to hurt him so badly that he would need that information. But he’s _not gone_ and right then that is as far as Tobirama gets.  
“He’ll be okay.” Voice a whisper, hoarse from screaming, he falls back in to his brother’s arms and sobs now with relief instead of pain. “He’s - and I - I’ll see him again. Won’t I?”  
Despite only just hearing the words and realizing the truth himself he still turns to his older brother for reassurance, still needs to be told that everything is going to be okay. He can’t recall the last time he was even half this vulnerable for anyone that wasn’t Madara. Can’t imagine what poor excuse for a life he would have suffered if Madara were truly beyond his reach. It simply doesn’t bear thinking about.

“You’ll see him again, I promise.”  
He holds Tobirama closer, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades, letting him get it all out while he glances around at the mess of bodies laying in the dust and dirt.  
Four humans. All dead, from the looks of it, and it’s only the knowledge that they’d been after Tobirama that keeps him from mourning the loss of life. Hashirama might loathe the idea of killing anyone, even humans, but he’d much rather see their bodies burned than have to bury his brother.  
Speaking of burning… Madara’s ashes sit next to him, unmoving in the wind that catches his own hair. He’s read about phoenixes, of course, having studied all of the races knowing he would one day rule over them. None of his books have ever mentioned much past the burning process though and having no personal experience leaves him puzzled as to what they should do.  
“Tobi?” He feels a bit bad not giving his brother any longer to process what had just happened but he still pulls back enough to catch Tobirama’s eyes. They’re puffy and even redder than usual, which only makes his chest ache harder despite knowing it’s not pain that causes the tears now.  
“Do you know what we’re supposed to _do_ with him? Do we move him? Leave him here?”

Without pulling any farther away from the sorely needed comfort he still manages to growl dangerously with offense. Not even Hashirama blinking at him in astonishment can guilt him in to feeling bad for his reaction.  
“Of course we don’t just leave him there, are you out of your mind!?” Despite him now ranking as the first heir to the throne he knows better than to take such a tone with the King himself. He doesn't care. Nothing is more important to him now than having Madara back among them.  
“I will care for him until he...until he reemerges. Although I can’t say that I know much about the process for that.”  
He could ask Izuna, _should_ ask Izuna, but he knows he won’t. If they can manage to keep this quiet then no one will have to know that it happened at all and if he asks Izuna any odd questions the clever little shit will know and he will certainly demand to care for Madara’s ashes himself. Tobirama can’t stand even the thought of parting with them. Madara belongs to him and him alone just as he belongs only to his lover in turn; if their positions were mirrored then he could wish for no one else to watch over him.  
Still, there are quite a few questions that will need answers and he doesn’t want to do anything wrong if he can help it. As soon as he has Madara somewhere safe he will slip away to the castle library and see if they keep any books on phoenix biology or species habits. Hopefully he can find something useful. It wouldn’t do for Madara to return only for them both to discover he’s messed up some obscure ritual or something.  
Tobirama frowns, swallows passed the sudden lump in his throat.  
“Will he come back the same?” he asks. “I...will he even remember me after he is reborn?”  
By all the gods above, how can he have been so arrogant as to never ask these questions before?

All Hashirama can do is shake his head in response, knowing no more than Tobirama does. It’s admittedly a little surprising his ever so studious brother doesn’t have the answers himself but there’s little either of them can do about that now.  
The pile of ashes is pitifully small, not nearly as big as he imagines a grown phoenix should leave. How anyone is supposed to emerge from that Hashirama doesn’t know. He just hopes none of the ashes are lost when they move them, since there’s no telling if that might affect how Madara comes back to them.  
“We’ll have to find something to carry him in. A bucket maybe? Are there any of those around here?” He looks around again, this time purposely ignoring the littered bodies and stray weapons, though nothing immediately catches his eye.  
Later, they’ll have to discuss the clearly intimate relationship between Tobirama and his captain but for now he just wants to help. Shovel talks and lectures can come _after_ the ashes are safe and Tobirama’s no longer shaking from watching his lover burst into flames and die.  
They _will_ come later, though. Especially given their positions; it’s just not something Hashirama can avoid addressing, no matter what his personal feelings on the matter are.

“We’re not carrying him in a dirty _bucket_.” The very thought is ridiculous. Someone like Madara deserves to be carried in a gilded box encrusted with jewels and - and he’s aware that he’s being a little ridiculous yet he can’t help himself. He just doesn’t want Madara to be carried around in a bucket as though he’s nothing more than pig slop.  
Hashirama gives him a pointed look heavy with exasperation to let him know he’s not the only one who’s noticed his ridiculousness. He ignores it with the ease of a sibling who grew up with one dolt and two incorrigible spitfires for brothers.  
In the end they decide to carry Madara in the ceremonial helmet he discarded with the rest of his armor when he got changed for their spar. It’s not a damned bucket and it feels better to use a badge of the rank he fought so hard to achieve, a rank he has more than earned today. Tobirama refuses to allow Hashirama’s help moving even so much as a single grain of ash. It is him that Madara was protecting when this happened so it is his burden to carry, his responsibility alone.  
There is also the matter of his possessiveness crying out for him to push Hashirama away, to yell at the other nyx for even daring to look. He’s never been the type for sharing anyway.  
When all is said and done he is left alone in his chambers with nothing but a helmet full of ash and a long look from his King that says they have a number of conversations ahead of them. Hashirama is good enough to leave him to his period of mourning but it’s clear that their secret is out, that there is now a situation to be dealt with whether he is ready to or not. And he _has_ been ready but...it feels wrong to do this now with Madara laid low when it was Madara who always protested this very occurrence so strongly. Robbing his partner of even the chance to air his opinions feels like a betrayal.  
Undecided and impatient, Tobirama flits about his rooms with one eye always on the helmet he so carefully placed in the very center of his bed for safekeeping as he tears his possessions apart in search of something better for Madara’s resting place. His fingers are careful as he scrapes them in to a jewelry box judiciously emptied on to the floor to serve a higher purpose.  
And then he sits and he waits. He would wait a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes, but he knows that every minute ahead of him will be agony. He prays that his wait will not be long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown

It’s been a single day, just under a full twenty-four hours, and already Tobirama feels as though he will be driven mad if he has to wait another moment. Barely five minutes pass between each time he finds it necessary to turn his head and check that the box of ashes remains safe where it rests on the decorative table he has dragged in to the center of his room. Citing illness, he hasn’t so much as left his chambers since yesterday afternoon so even he isn’t sure what he thinks might have happened to upset the remains of his partner since the last time he looked and yet here he is raising his head to peer across the vast empty expanse between them.  
Whatever story Hashirama has spread to excuse Madara’s absence must be working. Not a single person has come to his door to ask if he knows where the man could be, although it’s possible they are avoiding his sick room and seeking answers elsewhere. Either way he is grateful for the privacy while he slowly drives himself mad for the waiting.  
Before his seclusion the day before he had managed a quick trip to the library that proved frustratingly useless. None of the books on the phoenix race had contained any more information than he already knew. They all covered the same areas and rehashed the same vague information, that a phoenix will burst in to flames upon death and rise again from the ashes an undetermined amount of time later. Yet not one of them had anything to say on what happened between the death and the rebirth nor did any of them address what happened after that, the two areas he was most interested in learning about. Tobirama stormed back to his rooms in a fine temper without returning any of the books to their proper places for what may have been the first time in his life. It is a sad day when even his books let him down.  
One of his legs begins to bounce with nerves and Tobirama shifts himself to sit forward, balancing his elbows on his knees and bearing his weight down on them to keep himself still. He has only just managed to stop pacing about the room. If he lets himself slip in to any other nervous habit it will only exacerbate how helplessly anxious he feels.  
So much concentration is going in to _not_ concentrating that he almost fails to realize the significance of it when the smell of smoke begins to waft across the room. When it finally occurs to him that Madara’s ashes have been cold and still with no scent right from moments after death his head shoots up to stare for the hundredth time. Only this time he is rewarded with something new.  
Curls of smoke rise from the ashes where they are perfectly visible in their place of honor. Tobirama blinks and half rises from his seat - then falls back to the mattress with a startled cry when a burst of flame fills the center of his room with no further warning.

The first thing he becomes aware of is flames. Fire was his first home and will be his last and he revels in how it takes him over once more.  
Sounds of cracking wood come next, breaking somewhere near him though he cannot seem to orient himself around the noise. Under him, next to, around - directions are still unstable, uncertain things his mind that can’t quite make sense of in his unsolid form.  
He’s laying in a pile of ashes not his own, flat on his back, when he’s himself again. Still disoriented, still not entirely sure of what’s happened, he knows enough to run a systems check of sorts, twitching his limbs and digits to make sure everything’s in working order.  
Breathing hurts, though his lungs seem uninjured. It’s more his chest that feels off, tight in ways it wasn’t before. He pushes himself up, resting his weight first on his forearms to make sure his arms would hold him, blinking to clear some of the dirt from his eyes.  
Not dirt. Soot. More ashes that he tries to wipe away, only to find his hands are filthy as well - his entire body coated in ashes and bare of anything else.  
He must have died again, from the looks of it. The ache in his chest says he was more than likely stabbed there and he runs an absent hand over the area, feeling the fresh scar as he wracks his brain for what happened. He remembers being outside, the chill of the wind. Light reflecting off blunt steel. Tobirama’s wicked and knowing grin, hair sticking to his own forehead from sweat. The sound of clashing swords behind him, turning around to see two guards facing off against-  
_Tobirama’s in danger._  
He’s up an instant later, too fast. Legs not quite ready to work, he falls right back down but it doesn’t stop him from trying again because _Tobirama needs him_ , he’s naked and unarmed and _he failed_ and he has to find his prince before it’s too late _if it isn’t already_.

Watching Madara struggle without stepping over to offer help is...there is no word to describe it. Confusing and painful and all sorts of things. Tobirama forces himself to stay where he is now hovering at the end of his bed with hands clenched so tightly in to fists that his knuckles are surely white and tries not to think of how unnatural it feels to be still in this moment. He wants nothing more in the world than to hurry across the room and steady the fumbling phoenix, to pull Madara in to his arms and hold him tight enough for their hearts to beat against each other because he’s _alive_ , he’s _here_ , and he looks unchanged from the Madara that burnt to ashes before Tobirama’s very eyes.  
Only one thing keeps him rooted to the spot and that is the niggling uncertainty of the man’s mental state. Until a fully grown body fell out of the flames he had honestly not been sure Madara would even be the same age when he reappeared, has been trying to prepare himself for the possibility of a newborn child starting from the beginning again. Seeing him as an adult is a relief but it isn’t proof that he brought with him his memories from the last life and Tobirama is both terrified of the possible rejection and worried that he might cause the man to panic should he try to offer his assistance.  
It feels as though his airways are closing and his heart is ready to beat out of his chest by the time Madara reorients himself in to a standing position. The moment their eyes meet across the room time seems to stop and Tobirama hovers in the space between moments as he waits for the blank look of incomprehension to shift, to fall away, to do _something_.

It takes a few moments for his brain to process what he’s seeing, too wrapped up in his apparently unnecessary panic, and several more to believe it to be true. But it _is_ Tobirama standing not too far away from him, alive, breathing, though he oddly makes no move to step away from the bed - Madara has to look around then, because that can’t be right. There are no beds in the training grounds.  
He’s in Tobirama’s room. Made a mess of it, really, if the ashes at his feet are anything to go by. Must have been near something flammable and knowing his luck it was expensive as well.  
At least they seem to be alone and if he was moved, if Tobirama’s here right now, it means he didn’t _entirely_ fail.  
It _doesn’t_ mean Tobirama’s uninjured, though, and that’s very much the next thing to mark off on his mental checklist.  
He stumbles a bit when he tries to walk over to him, cursing how his legs want to shake like a newborn fawn’s. When he does make it to Tobirama he ignores the desperate need to bury his soot-covered face into the expensive silk at his prince’s chest, not bothering to warn him as he pats him down for injuries - and ignoring the sound of surprise it earns him.  
“Did they hit you? Are you hurt?” So help them if they left even a _paper cut_ on his prince. He will find a necromancer if necessary to make them pay, laws and morality be damned. Any price would be worth destroying the ones who tried to take Tobirama from him.

Tobirama catches Madara’s hands, not responding to the snarky comment the action earns him, barely even hears it. All he cares about are those words of concern and the fact that he clearly remembers the events just before his own death. Every sign points to the best case scenario that Tobirama has been refusing to allow himself to hope for.  
“You’re here,” he breathes. Saying it makes it real and for a few seconds he can’t force any other words out, too overwhelmed with having that beloved face so close again. Madara makes a questioning sound like he doesn’t understand how Tobirama could have doubted that he would return and it takes him right back to yesterday, to the utter blankness in his mind when all he knew was that his love was _gonegonegone_. The raging inferno of empty grief, no direction and no purpose without the one thing that anchors him to the earth and gives him a reason to go on.  
Forcing that thought away staves off a descent back in to panic and leaves him clear headed enough to rub his thumbs over the back of Madara’s hands, daring now to hope for what hadn’t before.  
“You remember me?”  
He must be absolutely sure. Who is he to say how any of this works?  
When things have calmed down the two of them really need to sit down and have a long conversation about all the important things in both of their heritage. He’s sure there are things about his own race that he takes for granted which Madara might be unaware of; he will happily trade those secrets for a little more insight about what to expect in the event that something like this ever happens again.  
He will do everything in his power to prevent something like this from ever happening again.

The question makes no sense. A firm grip on his hands halts any thoughts of further examining Tobirama, and forces Madara to stare at him. He wants to roll his eyes, to scoff at the ridiculous suggestion that he might have forgotten him.  
But his tone has that hopeful edge to it. Voice quiet, eyes soft as if he’d truly thought it an impossibility.  
Had Tobirama believed him gone? That _he_ wouldn’t come back, but some other person in his place? A grown shell of a body with no memories left to guide him?  
Snorting with laughter isn’t exactly the best reaction but Madara can’t help himself. It’s not that it’s funny, it’s just… He’s not entirely sure _what_ he’s feeling at the moment, too many things happening right after he’s been reborn, too many thoughts and memories vying for his attention, emotions a mess in the scattered storm of his mind.  
Giving up trying to do anything else, he all but collapses into his prince, who has no doubt been watching over him this entire time - which only makes him laugh more, muffled into that glorious chest he so loves to lay against.  
Oh, how the tables have turned. Who would have thought his prince would ever be standing guard over him?  
“Yes, I remember you, idiot.” How could he ever forget his first and only love, the nyx who has stolen his heart so fully and so easily?

“Ah. That’s good. Very good.”  
He’s pretty sure the feeling inside him right now is euphoria or at least something very close to it. Madara is alive, he is unchanged, and he remembers him. Remembers _them_. Clearly, or else he would never call the High Prince an idiot in a tone as fond as he just did. He also appears to be completely exhausted by the efforts of recreating an entirely new body from flame if the way he is draped over Tobirama’s front is anything to judge by.  
Pulling him in close is the sweetest sensation and it is only made better when Madara nuzzles in to his neck with a contented hum, lipping at his skin in a tired approximation of a kiss.  
“I missed you,” Tobirama whispers in to the massive volume of his wild hair. “I love you. I...feared for you.”  
Admitting that he has been afraid rankles, if only because he has perhaps a little bit more pride than is healthy, but it’s necessary to impress upon Madara how strongly this entire debacle impacted him. When they go over what happened in better detail he’s going to have to admit to all sorts of emotions so he may as well get some of it over with now while he’s still riding the high of being reunited.  
Then he sighs because there is something else that he may as well get over with sooner rather than later. Rushed as it may be to throw it all out there now, he knows himself and he knows if he lets it slide until later he will get too wrapped up in the man in his arms to remember anything else.  
“You should also know that, ah, His Majesty the High King Hashirama...may have discovered our relationship. He has yet to pass any sort of judgment on the matter. Or talk to me at all, really. I’ve been pretending an illness while I watched over you so…”  
He winces when Madara twitches, the calm before the storm.

That...definitely solves the question of what he should be feeling at the moment.  
Having a second panic attack in less than five minutes sounds like the exact _opposite_ of a good plan. An explosion of anger, equally awful. He hardly has the energy to hold himself upright, let alone pace and storm and _think_ after exhausting himself becoming alive once more.  
If he’s still in the palace walls, not tossed out while a pile of ashes, then he’s in no _immediate_ danger. Tobirama as well, considering Hashirama’s not the type to send assassins to kill his brother over an ill-conceived relationship. Even if they’re to be exiled it’s not like they’ll be kicked out in the next few seconds, meaning winding himself up would only waste desperately needed recuperation time.  
All that being said, it takes Madara a minute to calm the fire trying to overtake him once more, compartmentalizing and shoving it off to deal with later. Much later, if he has his way with the situation.  
“Tobirama, I am entirely too tired and soot covered to be having this conversation.” He lifts his head up enough to catch Tobirama blinking in surprise, probably not having expected him to stay calm. To his credit, he wouldn’t have normally. Far from it, actually.  
It makes him huff anyway, dropping his head to hide his face.  
“I’m filthy. I want a bath, I want some clothes, and _then_ we can talk about our potential impending banishment.” Then he adds as an afterthought, tugging on the hem of Tobirama’s shirt, “And I want you to take a bath with me.”  
Not like it’d matter if they’re caught together now, after all. And Madara figures he deserves a bit of pampering after dying.

He’s not going to say no to something as tempting as the chance to sit naked in the water and hold this gorgeous man close to him for a while longer. For as many times as they have slipped out to the lake and gone swimming together, they’ve never had the chance to bathe in the comfort of their own spaces. Or, at least, they’ve never had the chance to do so while taking their time and languishing in the water together without worry of being caught. As all other encounters here in the castle they have had to rush through their frantic love making and cut short the afterglow to return to their respective duties before anyone begins to ask questions.  
Gently he takes Madara by the arm and leads them both deeper within his quarters to where he enjoys the seclusion of his own private washroom. As a nyx he has no need of different taps to make his water flow, not when it answers his call so easily to rise to the surface, but he does send a grateful if worried smile towards Madara when his phoenix sends a tiny flame to light the furnace underneath his tub. The water will heat while they clean themselves in the shower.  
Tobirama spent a great deal of his time during the last twenty four hours going over all the things they might never have the chance to do again if he lost this, all the things they hadn’t yet had the chance to experience. It is with almost childlike delight that he sits Madara on a low stool and rubs a bit of soap on to his favorite cloth. Despite his many fantasies over the years there is nothing sexual about his touches just yet. His eyes are soft as he runs the cloth gently over every inch of the man’s skin, his touches almost reverent, rediscovery and worship all at once. He could spend forever doing nothing but running his hands over all this precious skin and tracing all of his favorite scars.  
Or so he thought. His fingers pause as they travel over a brand new scar, pinkish and bubbling out from pale skin just over a steadily beating heart that sets his own to thundering in an instant.  
“All done. Let’s get in, shall we? The bath should be warm enough by now.”  
The cloth is tossed to one side without even being rinsed. He finds suddenly that he can’t wait a single moment more for the chance to wrap his arms around Madara and hold him like they might never have to let go.

Despite his lover being a nyx, a literal water spirit in human form, water has never been one of Madara’s favorite elements. It often feels stifling, dampening to his own nature, and something as simple as rain can put him in a foul enough mood to turn the very air around him rotten.  
This is probably the first time in his life he’s found that to be untrue. Sinking into the hot water (still a touch cool for his liking but he hardly wants to boil his koi alive), crawling right into Tobirama’s lap. Doing nothing but breathing in the steam filling the bathroom, feeling the gentle lap of water from their movements, being held tight as if his nyx never wants to let him go.  
If he could have this every time Madara might consider taking more overly long baths instead of his typical quick in-and-out showers.  
Then again, he’s beginning to suspect he will do just about _anything_ to have more intimate moments like this. Just the two of them, no worries or duties to cloud up their minds. A steady heart beating in his ear. The both of them content to soak away in each other’s arms until the furnace burns out and the water turns cold.  
Normally sitting in his lover’s lap with no clothes on would have him beyond excited and there is a good part of him tempted to reach down into the water and grab ahold of the beautiful man he has trapped beneath him. He can’t deny that making love in the bath has never crossed his mind and now that it has it’s quite a delicious thought. It’s only his lack of energy that keeps him from doing so, kissing the skin he can reach without moving instead, resorting to showing his affection through soft touches. Wanting above all else to show in turn just how much Tobirama means to him.  
“I love you,” he murmurs against heated skin, looking up to gaze into the ruby eyes that have his own heart beating a little faster. “I’m yours. Always.”

Tobirama tightens his arms for a moment, murmuring the words back as he closes his eyes and basks in the contact between them with Madara wrapped around him, chest to chest, face buried against his shoulder. Both of them are so relaxed, so at ease, and it’s very strange not to have that little voice in his head yelling at him that they don’t have time for this. Right now they have all the time they could possibly wish for. If they wanted to they could lie here until their skin wrinkles from head to toe or they could drain the water and continue to lie here until the sun goes down.  
Actually at that point he’s sure they would head on over to lie on the bed but the point still stands. They can do whatever they want for however long they want and it’s _weird_. A good weird, though.  
Yet now that they have this freedom Tobirama wants to groan at his own idiocy because he cannot stop thinking about the outside world. Eventually their little bubble of private happiness will be popped and he can’t believe it’s him that’s being the cautious one for once. It’s always been him pushing towards the spotlight with Madara clinging to the shadows where he knows for certain they will stay safe. Now he has his phoenix spread out across his lap, thighs barely fitting on either side of his own even in the sizable tub and leaning forward to press their chests together in an approximation of a hug, but all Tobirama can do is think about the necessity of what comes next.  
“I didn’t mean to,” he says finally, unable to hold it in. “I didn’t mean for him to find out. I didn’t know he was there, I swear, I was just...lost. When I thought I lost you. Madara...I’m sorry. You weren’t okay with this yet but I let us be discovered anyway. If anything should happen to Izuna…”  
To ask someone like Madara to choose between the man he loves and the brother he raised is to ask him to tear his very soul in half. Just when he finally understood the situation his partner is in and hesitated, of course that is when he accidentally blew their cover.  
Just his luck really. 

“ _Must_ you talk about my brother when we’re like...well, _this_?” His aggravated huffing has more to do with the breach of their peace than anything else, knowing full well that now he’ll have to face what he’s tried so desperately to put off.  
The rather stubborn part of him that refuses to face the conversation has him leaning further into Tobirama, sticking his nose right into the crook of his neck to stay for the next good while. It doesn’t stop his mind from unpackaging that box of emotions and whirling thoughts he’d set on a mental shelf for later, running through the different possibilities of exactly _how_ Hashirama had stumbled upon them, what the high king might do now that he knew, what might happen to Izuna because of this.  
It takes a bit longer than it should have to catch the guilt in Tobirama’s confession. He’s been so relaxed, so focused on _not_ focusing, that the apology hadn’t even registered. That has him lifting his head once more with a heavy sigh, running a hand up to rest against Tobirama’s neck.  
“I’m not upset. At you, anyway. At the situation, yes.” It’s far from ideal to have Hashirama find out ever, let alone when he was out of commission. Without seeing his reaction first-hand Madara doesn’t really know what to expect when they finally have to face the inevitable noise. But even without being there Madara knows Tobirama would never lie to him, especially about something so important; if he said it was an accident then he believes him and that leaves no reason to be angry at _him_.  
“As far as Izuna…” It’s something he still hasn’t had enough time to think about, so convinced he could talk Tobirama out of ‘coming out’, as it were, that he’s not given nearly enough thought to how he will protect his brother if they did. Now he finds himself wishing he’d talked to Izuna about the situation, about their relationship, if only to prepare him for the possibility of living without him - and possibly dealing with the shitshow he left in his wake.  
“If anything happens to Izuna…” He shakes his head, swallowing hard at whatever emotion is trying to force its way out of his throat. Damn regenerations sending his emotions in a frenzy. “ _Nothing_ is going to happen to Izuna. If I have to _drag_ the brat by his ear behind us, I will, no matter the fuss he might kick up. _And_. And in the off-chance I’m...wrong, I won’t...blame you.” His next breath shudders a bit and he has to blink a few times to keep his vision from blurring, fiddling with the small hairs at Tobirama’s neck to distract himself.

Such a simple touch but it does wonders to relax the tension once again gathered in his shoulders. Knowing that the other isn’t angry at him for revealing their relationship before they managed to agree on whether or not to do so also helps with that. The gods only know what he would do if that weren’t the case. How does one apologize sufficiently for something one didn’t even mean to do? He’s royalty, he’s been taught from birth that he never has to apologize to anyone, so it’s not like that sort of thing comes naturally to him.  
“We will both do everything in our power to keep Izuna safe if it comes to that.” Just because he and Izuna aren’t very close doesn’t mean he isn’t prepared to lay down his life for the man. Anyone and anything that is precious to Madara is also precious to him by default.  
“But - and don’t quote me on this because I’m not positive - I don’t...I don’t know that we will need to do all that much protecting. I can’t say what my brother’s decision will be and my memories of yesterday are admittedly a little scattered but I don’t remember him seeming very angry. Surprised, very much so. Angry, not really. He was quite sympathetic, actually. And now that I think about it he seemed more surprised that I had forgotten that death is not as final for you as it is for me.”  
His mind very carefully skitters around thinking about that part in any more depth, just as it has been ever since it happened. There is no need for him to go in to a spiral about a problem that has already resolved itself.  
“Whatever he decides-” Tobirama pauses, gets lost in Madara’s eyes for a moment and then tilts his chin up for a chaste kiss, barely a brushing of their lips. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling that things are going to be alright, even if ‘alright’ means that we flee the kingdom in the end. At least we’ll be together.”

Now that those lips are in reach Madara’s not keen on letting him go. He tugs him back for another kiss, still chaste, still nothing frantic about it, but it eases a part of him he didn’t even know was on edge.  
“It’s hardly fair that you’re willing to listen to _your_ gut feelings and not mine.” There’s no bite to his grouching, grumbled complaints for the sake of grumbling and nothing else. He leans back in to press their lips together once more, taking his time with this one, not pulling back until he hears a contented sigh from his partner.  
Knowing it has to be done doesn’t make his next words any easier. Tobirama has already stepped out of his comfort zone and apologized to him for things that aren’t really his fault and he knows all too well how difficult such matters are for the both of them. Thinking about apologizing in turn has him squirming with discomfort, wrinkling his nose and turning his head to scowl at one of the many bottles of scented oil placed neatly on a shelf next to the tub.  
“And I suppose that I really should have...well, _I’m sorry_ alright? I should have talked to you about the whole phoenix death thing - I even thought about it and didn’t bring it up since I figured telling you I’d already died twice would ruin a certain _mood_ and that was _selfish_ and _don’t get used to this_!” With a loud huff, Madara sinks right back into Tobirama’s chest, not at all willing to see or be seen after that. Maybe if he sinks low enough he can drown. It’s certainly tempting, much more than talking anymore. Or ever again.

As startling as it is to have such a sincere apology from this man, a rare gift, that isn’t what catches Tobirama’s attention. His half-hearted effort to pry the phoenix away from him so their gazes can meet proves fruitless so he gives in with a huff of his own and drops his face in to damp hair.  
“That isn’t something you need to apologize for. I could just as easily have asked but I deluded myself in to thinking I would never need to know. You are forgiven, if you need to hear that, but I don’t see that it is something you need to ask forgiveness for.”  
With his arms wrapped around his partner he calls to the water surrounding them in the tub. It answers his desires as easily as ever, shifting them just a little bit lower to find a more comfortable position without needing to let go of his love for even a moment. He asks the water to part in such a way that they may fall in to a lying position without having to worry about drowning and smiles when Madara twitches against him, clearly waiting for the water to displace and pour downwards to fill his nostrils. It is equal parts amusing and touching that he refuses to lift his head to inspect his surroundings like any other suspicious fire beast would.  
Either he has trust that Tobirama is taking care of things or he is just that determined to hide from the world. Both are equally adorable.  
“Now, let us talk of lighter things. I think we’ve said everything that we needed to get off our chests. Or I hope so, at least. We have so much time to ourselves, what shall we do with it?”

It’s probably a good thing Tobirama wants to change the subject because as soon as they lay down Madara’s thoughts scatter and run straight for the gutter.  
Apparently his system hasn’t quite managed to right itself yet. Getting overly emotional when his brother was mentioned, feeling guilty enough to actually _apologize_ , falling all over his prince and _laughing_ about Tobirama assuming him gone. Like all of that hasn’t been enough to never let him live the day down, now he feels like a hormonal teenager ready to start humping the very wet and _very naked_ man trapped underneath him.  
That he can honestly be _in the mood_ after such a serious conversation only makes him feel worse, glad at least for his nice hiding spot in the chest he’s glued himself to. Not that it will prevent Tobirama from eventually feeling his growing _problem_ considering it’s currently trapped between their slippery bodies.  
Thinking like that _really_ isn’t helping. Neither is all the delicious muscle at his fingertips or the strong arms wrapped around him. Or the hand currently playing absently in his hair, though how on earth he can take something as innocent as that and twist it dirty is a mystery. His mind does it anyway, crafting an image of him on his hands and knees, being taken from behind, while Tobirama _yanks_ his hair hard enough it makes him cry out in pleasure-  
Yup, he has a problem.  
He meant to answer Tobirama’s question, if only to distract himself from what his prince hasn’t shown any interest in doing at the moment. Meant to say something dull like ‘whatever you want to do’ or maybe suggest a nice, long nap in the luxurious bed all but calling his name - something else he feels a great need for after the stress of being reborn.  
Instead his mouth betrays him because as soon as he opens it he blurts out, “How do you _do_ this to me?”  
At least he doesn’t have to move to cover his embarrassment this time, face already pressed into glorious muscle, not having to witness whatever reaction Tobirama has to his blurted nonsense. He ends up fidgeting still, trying to hide the evidence of _what_ exactly Tobirama has been unknowingly doing to him even though he knows it will only make it more obvious.  
“Just ignore me, it’s the rebirth. Always leaves me a bit...off,” he grumbles. But his brain can’t stop there because it hates him, and he ends up spewing more nonsense before he can stop himself. “Of course, you don’t _have_ to ignore it, not that you don’t _not_ have to either. And it’s not just the rebirth, not like you don’t, you know, _ugh_ never mind!”

Well. That isn’t at all what he was expecting. Certainly the fact that they are both naked has crossed his mind once or twice but the mood in the room hasn’t seemed like it is going in that direction at the moment and so he’s been focusing on other things. In all honestly he’s been preparing to simply lounge away the rest of the afternoon in idle chatter, perhaps a bit of sleep. He’s never had the pleasure of waking up with Madara in his arms. All of that was perfectly fine, more than fine, it sounded like a very nice way to spend their time.  
This is definitely fine too. A smirk curls his lips as Madara shifts and squirms, clearly trying to hide his burgeoning erection but only managing to rub it around in more and more obvious ways. His phoenix pauses to gasp when he accidentally ruts himself right up against Tobirama’s own length, not hard yet though he is definitely twitching with interest.  
“If the offer is open,” he begins, allowing his voice to trail off suggestively.  
He can see how red the back of Madara’s neck is, hot with embarrassment and probably at least a smattering of shame for his wanton desires, and he doesn’t seem to want to come out of hiding just yet. Tobirama gleefully takes advantage of his distraction to glide both hands down the man’s back to cup his buttocks. Already taught muscles tighten in surprise at the unexpected touch. Then they clench and his lover gives a full body shudder when he slides one hand even further down to pet at the man’s entrance.  
“We should move to the bed for that, though. I have to admit the thought of having you like this, writhing over me in the bath, it’s very attractive. But...I’ve always promised myself that if we ever have the time I will spread you across my bed and take you apart piece by piece. And I intend to keep that promise.”  
Partly because Madara deserved such worship. Partly because his primal instincts scream for him to mark their territory, to take Madara to bed and make the phoenix irrevocably _his_ in the place where he has made his proverbial den. He wonders if their lovemaking will ever stop feeling like a new claiming every time.  
“Shall we?” he rumbles, delighting in the unsteady way Madara draws a breath before nodding.  
The water of their bath swirls away down the drain at a single thought from him and it takes very little effort to stand even with Madara’s weight still wrapped around his hips. One more thought removes the damp from their hair right down to the last drop, leaving them perfectly dry and wonderfully clean as he turns to carry them both towards the bedroom, more eager for the man in his arms than he has ever been before.  
And that’s certainly saying something.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up directly after the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown

It never fails to amaze and excite Madara how strong his lover is, how easily Tobirama can lift his weight. When he first arrived at the capitol he’d believed all the stereotypes of royals, having had so many high species prove them right over the years: snobbish, pampered, self-important, not a day of hard work under their belts.   
His prince so loves to prove people wrong and Madara’s no exception to that. Regal without being stuck-up, certainly having a posh life but self-aware enough of his privilege, constantly working for both the betterment of himself and the people that follow him.   
Promising to take him apart in the best way, like no one else ever could. It makes sense, after all; Tobirama’s the one who so often holds him together, holds all the pieces of his heart and soul.   
Held upright by two strong arms and his own thighs wrapped tight around his waist, Madara all but latches his mouth to Tobirama’s neck as he moves them, not ready to face how shameful he’s behaving but unable to stop himself either. Only the constant reminder that he can’t leave a mark keeps him from biting or sucking too hard, kissing up to tug at Tobirama’s earlobe right before he topples them over onto the bed.   
It’s probably his eagerness that draws some chuckling out of Tobirama but Madara puts a stop to that quickly by biting a bit harder on his shoulder. Still not hard enough to be visible for long but sharp enough that he thinks he got his point across.   
Then again… Madara drops his head against the covers, taking a moment to admire the frustratingly put together nyx currently pinning him down, hand on either side of his head.   
Fear of discovery has always held him back, forever aware of every action and its potential risk, knowing any stray love bite or scratch could spell their end - or worse.   
Hashirama knows now. With the king having either already decided their fate or given it consideration at the very least, there’s nothing in the way of Madara claiming what’s rightfully his.   
A wicked grin at the thought has Tobirama momentarily pausing his repositioning of their limbs but Madara doesn’t give him any more time than that. He’s pulling him down an instant later, mindful still of keeping it below where his collar will sit, biting now with the intention of leaving his lasting mark and revelling in the startled gasp and delicious shuddering it earns him.   
When he drops back to the bed again he’s preening, reaching up to trace a finger over the claim he’s left on that beautiful pale skin.   
“ _Mine_.”

He can’t quite decide if it’s Madara’s unexpected boldness or the shock of pleasure that leaves him gaping down at his partner but he does know that he approves. Fiercely and wholeheartedly. If there has ever been one truth in his life it is that he belongs to Madara.   
“Well if that’s the game we’re playing…”  
Tobirama ducks his head to make his own attack, licking his way down Madara’s neck and latching on to the seam where it slopes in to a broad shoulder. After so long staying hidden it’s second nature to choose a place that will still be easily disguised by the high collar of the guard’s uniform but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy sinking his teeth in to pale skin and sucking hard to bring blood to the surface. Leaving a hickey isn’t actually a very sexy process, no more than aimless suction, but paired with wandering hands and the knowledge that Madara will carry his mark for days afterwards it leaves both of them breathing a little harder by the time he pulls back a few inches to admire his work.   
An eye for an eye, a mark for a mark. It only feels right that they should match. Now that he’s had a taste, however, he finds himself hungry to leave more. Tobirama licks his lips and roves his eyes over all that delicious skin laid out on perfectly display for him as he wonders where to begin. A moment later he is grinning and holding Madara’s bucking hips in place as he nibbles his way down to one of those temptingly pink nipples, licking and sucking and nipping wherever he so pleases without a care in the world for what evidence he leaves behind.   
“You taste like fire,” he notes absently.   
Not ash, not smoke, not even the sensation of burning. The only way he can describe the natural taste of Madara’s new body is _fire_ in its purest form. He’s pretty sure that shouldn’t turn him on the way it does yet the cock hanging neglected between them is rock hard now and he can’t help but rut forward against one of Madara’s legs in search of some slight relief.  
“My fire,” he growls mindlessly. “My phoenix. No one else can have you. I’m going to make you scream, love. Just because I _can_.”

Those words alone leave him aching, hips bucking in vain against Tobirama’s firm grip. He can’t do anything beyond gasp and hold on, senses assaulted with pleasure as his chest is littered with marks, back arching as Tobirama tugs on his nipple with his teeth.   
A part of him, the very small portion that had dared to dream they’d ever have no need to hide, hadn’t expected it to be like this. In his most secret of daydreams he’d imagined it to be soft, passionate. Their first love making as a free couple, to love and hold each other as they’ve always wanted and deserved, to be a coming together of hearts more than anything else.   
Rough has never crossed his mind, though it isn’t the best word to describe their actions, only the first to occur to him through the haze of arousal. Possessive comes to mind a few moments later as Tobirama leans up to capture his lips, dominating his mouth easily as their tongues dance together. As if to make up for the years of hiding in the shadows, as if to prove without doubt this new body belongs to him as well.   
Madara is more than happy to give it to him. Eager to do so, to let his prince have him in whatever way he wants.   
That being said, he’s soon squirming impatiently as Tobirama moves back to lick and mark his chest, itching to squeeze a hand between them for a bit of relief. He can’t remember the last time he was this hard this fast and as erotic as his koi claiming him is it’s doing nothing good for his sanity.   
“Words. Just words, useless, don’t do anything.” He’s sure his breathy grumbles don’t make sense, one hand tangling in silver hair to give it a gentle tug in hopes that will get his desires across instead. In hopes of getting Tobirama to actually touch him, lick him, _anything_ that will relieve some of the building pressure that’s becoming too much to bear.   
“Empty promises,” he gets out between his teeth, head lolling to the side and pleasure glazed eyes doing their best to glare at the man denying him, taking his sweet time getting to the point and not looking in the least bit sorry for doing so.

What an impatient man. Tobirama scoffs and pulls back against the fingers in his hair just to feel the sting on his scalp. Can’t Madara see that he’s busy? Although he supposes that this should probably get a move on. He remembers what Madara said about being scrambled in his new body and he imagines it’s probably harder to be patient when he can’t control himself as well as he usually can. It appears he isn’t going to be able to spend the hour or two he’d been vaguely planning to drive his phoenix up the wall with pleasure.   
He can’t say he’s exactly disappointed to move on. Foreplay is nice but it was more for Madara’s benefit than his own, to test the limits of what they can do now that they have the freedom to do it.   
“Are you accusing me of being a liar?” he demands playfully. “Shall I prove to you that you’re mine? That I can make you scream?”  
His lover writhes at the first hint of contact as his fingers curl around the hot length desperately trying to earn his attention. Then he is groaning as Tobirama makes a ring just tight enough to prevent him from ending their play too early and crawls down far enough to pass his tongue over the head. Fire dances along his tongue and Tobirama dips his head for a second taste, almost instantly addicted. The taste is so much stronger here. He wants more.   
Vaguely he registers the shifting above their heads and he looks up just in time to see the little bottle of lubricant sliding towards him. He blinks in momentary distraction as it slides to a stop and thinks that he is quite grateful that it is a water based lubricant, able to respond to his call even when he hadn’t really notice himself calling out for it in the first place. If his luck is holding then Madara will have been too distracted to notice anything. Tobirama continues to lick at the tasty treat in one hand as he very carefully wrestles the cork out of the bottle with his other.   
When he has two fingers coated in lubricant he asks the bottle to stay upright and reaches down between Madara’s legs, spread so enticingly as he twitches and bucks, and slides one finger in without bothering to warn the man. 

It’s only the fingers wrapped tight around the base of his cock that prevent him from spilling his seed all over Tobirama’s face. He doesn’t know whether to push down onto the sudden invasion or try to escape it, body attempting to do both at once as it’s overloaded with the need to come and the lack of ability to do so.   
He’s left writhing from the tongue lapping at the head of his cock, down his shaft. Clenching around the single finger petting at his insides. Scratching at the silk sheets in hopes of calming himself, already smelling the smoke curling in the air above them.   
Too much and not enough. At least the non-frantic movements give him time to adjust, to pull back on the reins of his self-control. By the time he feels the familiar stretch of a second finger entering him he’s able to keep his eyes open beyond just slits, managing to lift himself up with one arm to watch the way Tobirama mouths the side of his cock.   
He really should have known better, given how prone his nyx is to displays in the bedroom. Once their gazes met a dangerous glint sparkles in those rudy eyes, one he’s come to associate with his shameless displays, and in one smooth motion he finds himself keening, buried to the hilt in wet heat.   
It’s all he can do to stop from bucking into him, torn between desperation and _close so close_ , and the desire to not choke his prince.   
There’s a very real chance he won’t last much beyond the first thrust once Tobirama _finally_ pushes home into him. He gasps out a bastardized approximation of a curse as Tobirama slowly bobs his head, stopping to lick and suck at the tip of his length while he works his entrance loose.   
If he had words, he might have begged to be allowed to come. He wants to scream in frustration at how unprepared his body is for this onslaught and maybe it’s selfish to want to come twice but he can’t help but think it’d be easier to enjoy himself in the actual act of love making if he could _breathe_.   
But he’s rendered speechless by the pleasure given to him, shaking with the effort to stay together. Left at the mercy of his prince and his shameless displays, how he moans as if delighted by the taste of him. How his fingers twist and run so dangerously close to his prostate but never hit it. How he swipes his tongue against the head of his cock when he pulls back, giving it a soft kiss as if he’s not breaking him apart.   
And by the gods, does Madara love every second in the hands of his tormentor.

They have been together long enough, danced between the sheets enough times, that Tobirama knows all the warning signs. He knows exactly how close to the edge he’s keeping the poor man. It’s written in the quivering of his thighs, the uncontrollable twitching buck of his hips, the sounds he muffles by sinking sharp teeth in to his bottom lip. Pleasure overwhelms Madara in the most beautiful ways and leaves him shattered, defenseless, so open. So perfect.   
Yet another moan of his own escapes and vibrates down the cock he has taken in to his mouth again. The sensations make his partner gasp and curse and he can’t seem to decide if he wants to press in to the mouth sucking him off or in to the fingers opening him up. Feeling merciful now after so much delicious torture, Tobirama doubles both efforts.   
Madara bites harder on his lip, a trickle of blood escaping, and Tobirama narrows his eyes at the sight. That simply won’t do. His goal was to make this creature scream and muffled noises run in rather the opposite direction of that. It looks like he’ll have to step up his game even more. Just because he has allowed himself to be hurried on past the mild foreplay does not mean he is willing to give up this particular indulgence, not when he finally has the chance to realize several different fantasies at once, a cornucopia of satisfaction for them both.   
Sliding his fingers out might have given Madara a chance to catch his breath if not for how Tobirama shifts his weight and sinks his mouth down as far as he can over the swollen cock he has been pleasuring and torturing in equal measure. He does his best to swirl his tongue around the head when he slides back up and then sinks back down, freshly lubricated fingers returning to their work at the same time. Three this time and with his aim corrected to press hard against the one spot he has been purposefully avoiding.   
His partner opens his mouth around a scream at last and Tobirama’s rush of triumph is interrupted only faintly when Madara’s back arches in an orgasm that hits them both a little suddenly. He hadn’t realized he let his grip loosen enough for the man to come.  
Eyes sliding closed, he works Madara through the pleasure anyway. There’s no harm in making him come twice. He wonders why he didn’t think of that himself. 

Relief. It washes through him like dammed water unleashed, shaking him apart. A voice echoes in his ears, off the walls and in the heated air around them. It sounds strangely similar to his own and registers only long after he’s shouted that it had been him at all.   
When his back touches the bed once more, collapsing, he’s whimpering. Trying to swallow the noises is a vain endeavor with that clever tongue laid flat against the underneath of his shaft, with wicked fingers massaging his sweet spot, and he reaches blindly for his lover. Grabbing at his shoulders, arms, finding purchase on sweat-slick skin to tug him away.   
It means losing the feeling of having something filling him, fingers slipping out as Tobirama is pulled up and pushed to lay on his side. Madara makes up for the feeling of sudden emptiness by nuzzling into him, shuddering through his breaths.   
Tobirama’s no doubt overly smug and satisfied with himself but Madara lets him have his moment of triumph. He takes a much needed minute to bask in the afterglow, held together by the warm hand soothing down his back, the press of lips against his forehead, the fingers working through his hair. He hums when they run down to tilt up his chin, melting into a kiss and finally finding the energy to stir again.   
"Should’ve known better than to call you a liar.” His lover preens and Madara only just manages to not roll his eyes by huffing lightly instead. At least he knows how to stroke his ego if it ever becomes necessary.   
There’s still the matter of his prince’s pleasure to see to, of course. He might have the patience of a saint, much more than Madara himself, but the length trapped between them shows how excited and eager his body is to continue. Capturing Tobirama’s mouth once more, Madara slips a hand between them, ghosting fingertips across the arousal and shivering from the soft gasp it earns him.   
“How do you want to…” He licks his own lip, tasting copper as he loses himself for a moment in red eyes. “How do you want me?”

Brave of him to ask so quickly. It puts thoughts in to Tobirama’s head about new experiments to try in the bedroom, testing their refraction times and such. Only a handful of the times they’ve been together have they managed to achieve two orgasms in one franticly fumbling encounter - and those times only because one of them approached the other already quite worked up. He can remember one of the first times they kissed, his Captain nearly catching him with his hands down his own pants, body thrumming from his own touch, coming almost as soon as Madara brushed against him.  
The rushing in his veins now feels quite similar to how it did then, although he’s learned quite a bit more self control in the time since. A necessity when one is in love with such a fine specimen who insists on parading around in public looking so delicious at all times.   
Still, he’s not about to deny such a generous offer. He draws Madara in to another deep kiss and caresses his jaw before skimming one hand down the expanse of his torso. Several options flicker through his mind like a spinning rolodex until it he pauses on one image that appeals ever so slightly more than some of the others. Taking his partner from behind doesn’t allow him to watch all those delectable expressions but he’s just had his fill of that a few moments ago anyway; he finds he is quite in the mood for watching Madara bend his spine and _beg_ to be fucked harder.   
Whoever said making love couldn’t get a little down and dirty was wrong. Every touch and caress that connects them is done with the utmost love and deepest affection. If he happens to also spank an ass cheek or two just to hear the man cry out then who could blame him when the reward is such sweet gasps and choked off moans?  
“I want your face pressed in to my sheets and your ass in the air.”  
Madara whimpers but it is Tobirama whose breath stutters in his lungs as he watches the man scramble to obey him so _nicely_. This, he thinks, is the only power he needs in the world, the only power he could ever be drunk on. The power to reduce this gorgeous man to a filthy mess with nothing but his words.

His fantasy from before is at the forefront of his mind as he positions himself. It’s not quite on his hands and knees, not quite the exact image, but it’s close enough to send a shiver down his spine, wondering how his lover always manages to know without asking exactly what he wants.   
Knowing Tobirama clearly wants it too makes his blood hotter. As if they are on the same wavelength, born and raised in two different worlds yet forever drawn to each other, meant to be together, hearts to beat as one.   
The gods save them both if Tobirama ever finds a way to become a telepath. If he thinks the sap he speaks aloud is bad he wouldn’t survive the over honeyed thoughts that always dripped their way through his mind after orgasm.   
He’s no sooner into position, trying to pull one of those heavenly soft pillows closer to bury his face into later, when a sharp smack to his rear has him yelping. Face heating right along with his arse cheek, he sends a look over his shoulder, not sure whether to roll his eyes and huff or wriggle his ass a bit in encouragement.   
The former comes more naturally to him and he gathers up the mess that is his hair as he does so, bringing it around one shoulder to get it off his back. It makes it less likely it’ll get pulled but there’s no guarantee that would happen anyway. Just one in a long list of fantasies and kinks he’s found himself too embarrassed to ever bring up with his partner.   
At the tap on his thigh, Madara spreads his legs wider, sighing at the feeling of fingers slipping back inside of him. It’s a bit unnecessary at this point, his muscles more than relaxed enough to stretch around his lover’s length but he pushes back into it still. He’s had his pleasure once already and if Tobirama wants to enjoy watching his fingers disappear into him - which is surely what he’s doing - he’s hardly going to say no.   
When he feels a second swat to his cheek he doesn’t even bother sending any chiding looks over his shoulder, dropping to rest on the pillow he’s snatched instead with a sound somewhere between an exasperated groan and an appreciative moan. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, the smug air rolling off of Tobirama from his responses is helping his arousal, still barely half hard from not being able to recover so quickly.   
Someday he hopes to give in more readily without the need to hide his shame at every gasp torn out of him. For now he just presses back a little harder, hoping Tobirama can understand without words how deep his desire truly burns for him.

Canting his head to one side, Tobirama admires the lovely shade of pink rising on the pale cheek before him in the vague shape of his own hand. It had only been an idle thought and he hadn’t really intended to follow through with it...but then Madara had pressed his face in to the sheets as he was asked to and presented his bottom like a good little soldier following orders and it was too much to resist, the need to leave his mark in as many places as he possibly can. He sort of hopes Madara will have a little trouble sitting down tomorrow so he will be thinking of Tobirama all day - but then it hadn’t been quite that solid of a blow. The sting will fade in a couple of minutes and the redness will be gone soon after.   
His head tilts upright and back down the other side for him to watch his fingers disappear in to the body before him, three fingers sinking in with no resistance now. Madara is more than well prepared and still he hasn’t moved to complete them just yet. His partner is still waiting for the afterglow to fade and Tobirama certainly doesn’t want to get the man all worked up again only to finish himself and ruin the fun.   
It takes willpower but he has that in spades, uses it now to stay strong and keep a steady pace with his fingers, curling them to brush teasingly close to that one sweet spot while he leans forward and presses open mouthed kisses over the spot where his hand had struck.   
“You did so well before,” he murmurs his praises against flushed skin. “Such a pretty scream. Do you know how long I’ve waited for the chance to hear you like that? How long I’ve been wanting the _world_ to hear how good I make you feel?” The chance that someone will actually overhear them is quite low considering how separate the royal wings are from the rest of the castle’s residents but that doesn’t change how aroused he is by the idea that someone could manage to pass by at just the right time. Like marking his territory in verbal form, just another way of claiming his beloved.   
Whatever noise Madara makes is softened by the pillow his face is buried in and Tobirama frowns, narrows his eyes. Not acceptable, he decides.   
“I want to hear you again. Every breath you take, every single sound that comes out of your mouth, they all belong to me, do you understand?”   
To make his point he reaches out with his free hand to take hold of the man’s hair and pulls. Not hard enough to hurt because they’ve never discussed this sort of thing before and he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries, just hard enough to encourage that face to lift out of the pillow - and _moan_ , the filthiest sound Tobirama has ever heard dripping from those lips.   
“Ah. I see.” His own voice is unsteady with a staggering wave of lust. He pulls harder experimentally and closes his eyes to take in the sounds that earns him. Apparently he needn’t have worried about boundaries. It seems Madara is just fine with this sort of thing.

Shame burns bright hot across his face but he can’t stop himself from pulling back against the strain, encouraging Tobirama to tighten his grip and pull harder. When he does it’s still not hard enough and though Madara appreciates the consideration he’s edging so close to a fantasy he’s had for years that he can’t stop the whine of frustration at not getting what he wants.   
“ _Would you just_ -” He cuts himself off, swallowing as his head is allowed to hang forward once more. Curses his own inability to spit it out, say what he wants instead of waiting for Tobirama to figure it out on his own.   
In his defense, his koi has an excellent track record for doing just that. Finding out his secret ticks, discovering new and better, more exotic ways to drive him wild, some of which he’d never known himself until roaming hands and tongue leave him panting and dangerously close to begging.   
For once he wants to be able to say it. Admit out loud what he wants from his prince. But even though willpower alone has gotten him through many difficulties the words don’t come and he growls at himself for lacking.   
If he can’t say it, he’ll just talk around it then.   
“I’m not _fragile_ , you know. You’re not going to break me.” It’s the best he can do, grumbling as he glares at the pillow as if it’s the very reason he can’t overcome his own admittedly unnecessary shame over asking for pleasure.   
The fist in his hair that honest to the gods _yanks_ back makes any past or future shame worth living through, his eyes rolling back from the pleasure-pain, unable to stop himself from bucking back into the fingers buried so deep inside of him.   
" _Gods, yes_. That. Do that.” It’s worded as an order but comes out as a plea, breathy and far more wanton than he’s ever wanted to sound in his life. The last scrap of his pride, holding on by a thread, is all that keeps him from tacking on a nice ‘please’, fingers digging into the pillow like claws.

His words are close enough to begging that Tobirama can almost feel his control snapping like a taut wire under heavy strain. Muttering curses under his breath, he slides his fingers out and casts about for the lubricant, grateful yet again that he ran out of the oil he usually keeps and chose this as a replacement. It is the work of a moment to slather a generous portion on himself and then he wraps one hand back in to Madara’s hair and one hand around his own length, pulling back and pressing in at the same time until his own head falls back at an angle that mirrors his lover’s .  
It’s like sinking himself in to liquid heat and he is hard pressed not to come without even managing a single thrust. Madara protests with a high pitched whine when Tobirama curls over his back for nearly a full minute without moving, hips languidly rolling to keep in place when the man bucks and writhes to try and tempt him in to motion, but he needs that time to push his own release back. He _wants_ this. He will not ruin this by coming so soon.  
Finally he feels less like he might explode at any given moment and dares to slowly pull back, his hands taking Madara’s hips in an iron grip to keep him still. Sinking back in is like coming back to the only place he has ever belonged. It’s a feeling he has long since been addicted to and he is more than happy to feed his own craving, pulling away and thrusting forward again, drinking in the helpless sounds Madara gifts to him each time he fills the man to the brim.   
After some time he realizes he has abandoned his grip on long dark hair and weighs the benefits of holding those hips in place versus pandering to this new kink he has apparently stumbled upon. It’s a hard decision, one he deliberately take his time with, but eventually he admits that there is nothing he won’t do for his partner right now. Besides, it isn’t as though he is giving anything up really. The way his phoenix writhes under him as soon as he is allowed to move, pressing back in to every thrust, arching his back in a perfect curve, it’s a beautiful show for his eyes only.   
“You’re perfect like this,” he says as he pulls Madara’s hair like a leash, taming the beast below and using his body for sinful pleasure. “Gods you feel good, so perfect for me. You were _made_ for me, love. Let me hear you, hm? Let me hear how good it feels to have me inside you.”   
Every moment, every instant, is a race against time, his pleasure against Madara’s. He can only hope that his partner is chasing his second peak as fervently as the first.

Moisture collects at the corners of his eyes from the sting at his scalp, threatening to spill over like the filth from his lips. Gasps, moans, high-pitched keening, Tobirama’s praise. It echoes in his ears, in the room around them, embers flickering to life in the hair being used liked reins to guide his pleasure.   
No words in any language he knows could describe this. How good, how perfectly _right_ it feels to have Tobirama inside of him, taking and giving pleasure in equal measures, driving him mad as only he ever could.   
Knowing his prince feels the same, believes them to be perfect for each other, _made_ for each other, helps him let go just a little more. Open his mouth just a little wider, sounds falling out obscenely close to shouts of pleasure despite not yet feeling that familiar pool of heat in his gut that spells his end.   
His efforts to let loose aren’t left unrewarded, because something shifts in their position. Maybe Tobirama leaned closer, maybe Madara slipped down, but suddenly Tobirama is able to thrust in just an inch deeper, press just a little firmer against his prostate, and Madara feels any semblance of self-control he has left crumbling like wet sand at his fingertips.   
It’s almost enough. Almost enough to make him finally let go, to slip into that part of him that wants to beg for more. Beg to be fucked, taken harder. Words and curses have already formed and start tearing their way out without permission, arms shaking with the effort to keep himself upright, eyes squeezed shut like a prayer would save him.   
But pride is a damnable vice and his jaw snaps shut around the word ‘ _please_ ’, sudden and defiant. It’s all he can do to bite it back and even though that part of him that _wants_ to let go outweighs the part holding on he chokes back his sounds now anyway.   
Whispered pleas are all he’s ever known. Wordless bucking of hips, desperate clawing at shoulders, searching lips. Never begging with reckless abandon, and this new overwhelming need to do so is just terrifying enough to keep his mouth shut against the sharp disapproving tug at his hair.   
Denying his prince what he claimed - his moans, his pleading, his every sound - isn’t wise and it isn’t what he _wants_ to do. But now that his stupid pride has come in to play it’s erected a wall he can’t seem to break, still pushing back to meet each thrust, clenching around the cock driving home into him to give Tobirama back _something_ now that he’s taken away what he claimed.

Something is holding Madara back, though Tobirama can’t think clearly enough to guess at what it might be. He’s certain it isn’t fear of discovery, the one barrier that has always caged them before. If it were that he knows Madara would have fought for control of his head and hissed out a warning, would have tensed all the wrong muscles and unconsciously made it harder to seek his own pleasure. Right now he is languid and wanton and clearly pleasure is not exactly difficult so it must be something else.   
He’s too close to the edge to make it a long fight. Tobirama grins, showing all his teeth, and wraps another loop of silky hair around his hand. If Madara needs a bit of help letting go then what sort of partner would he be if he doesn’t at least try to offer what he can? Which means it’s time to play dirty. His absolute favorite.   
The one hand still guiding Madara’s hips lifts and falls, the ringing sound of his smack almost merging with the echo of his partner’s shocked gasp. It’s possible he might be developing a preference for spanking but that can be examined later.   
“I believe I told you that those sounds belong to me,” he growls, pitching his voice low in the way he knows drives the other mad. “I will not stand for disobedience. We have all night; I can drag this out for hours if I have to.”  
He can’t. He really can’t. At most he has a couple more minutes before his control runs out entirely and the release he has been denying this whole time crashes down upon him. But he does have all night to use his hands, his mouth, his tongue and teeth, he knows all the places that tease best and he’s more than willing to explore for new ones. He’s also not above - oh, oh yes. What an excellent idea.   
Snapping his hips forward like he can physically make his point, Tobirama bends over the body underneath him until his lips are whispering against the shell of Madara’s ear and his fingers are tangled in a vicious grip just at the crown of his skull, pulling his head back and forcing him to listen.  
“Unless you would prefer me to tie you to this bed and spend the rest of the night dragging those screams from you one by one. And believe me, I won’t stop until _I_ am satisfied.”  
They may need to explore a little more in to this area in the future. He’s always known he enjoys being dominant but this, taking Madara apart and leaving him an utter wreck, spilling ideas he’s never dared to entertain before, he’s definitely having more fun than they often have time for.   
_Gods_ he’s so close. If he can just get Madara to scream for him, even once…

Pride be damned, that image speaks straight to his soul. Wrists tied to the bed frame, holding him still while his prince takes his time, unable to do anything but plead for mercy or _more_.   
That image searing into his mind, Tobirama’s hot breaths and filthy promise in his ear, the strain on his back and neck from being bent backwards, the punishing pace of their hips - it’s enough with some to spare, a desperate whimper as he surrenders.   
“ _Gods, Tobirama, please! Please, I_ -” Control shattered, his mindless pleas devolve into a mess of nonsensical syllables and guttural moans. Whether he’s begging to be spared such torture or begging _for_ it not even he knows, too lost in the bliss of letting himself go, letting Tobirama truly and fully command his body and pleasure.   
One way or the other, his pleas are heard. A primal growl in his ear precedes his answer, Tobirama leaning back and redoubling his efforts to drive him into the mattress, flames licking under his skin and threatening to take him back into the abyss he’d just returned from.   
All that keeps him from falling, all that holds him together, are the fingers digging into his hip. The hand tangled in the hair at the back of his head. The nyx consuming him from the inside out, burning him hotter than the flames in which he used to call home.   
And they’re the very things that shake him apart mere moments later.   
He’s shouting before release hits him, arms buckling from the force of having a second orgasm ripped out of him so soon. It leaves him gasping for air, white overtaking his vision, uncertain of whether or not he manages to drag Tobirama with him.   
Uncertain of anything beyond the silk pillow he finds his cheek resting on, the continued frantic rhythm of his heart, the air burning in his lungs - and the man, his prince, that he irrevocably belongs to.

Three more thrusts is all the longer he manages to last before crashing over the edge, hips stuttering and falling still while his eyes slam shut, fingers clutching pale skin so hard he’s certain that Madara will bear the bruises for days. Just thinking that drags a pitiful moan from him. It takes several minutes before he can function around the static in his mind, the senseless repetition of _minemineminemine_ and the animalistic urge to sink his teeth in to the back of that exposed neck. He resists only because he can’t fathom moving just yet.   
“Shit…”  
Madara heaves for air under him and Tobirama mirrors the action, fuzzy and incoherent from what he’s pretty sure was the most intense orgasm of his life. If they survive tomorrow - and he’s fairly certain they will - he would love to see if they can replicate this. Such intense passion deserves to be felt at every opportunity.  
And that _begging_. He’s never heard anything so beautiful in all his life, so enticing. It occurs to him now finally that what kept his lover’s mouth shut probably wasn’t fear but pride and an exhausted smile parts his lips. It’s touching, really, that Madara can set such things aside for him. He knows only too well how difficult that sort of thing can be. They are both prideful creatures, both just a little too aware of their own actions to truly let go in some ways.   
Several minutes pass before a soft groan makes him realize they are both completely still and hunched over each other, probably not the most comfortable position for his partner considering how tightly he is folded. But he still doesn’t want to be separated quite yet. Not when it feels so perfect to be nestled here inside the man he belongs to. Maneuvering them to lay on their sides without slipping out takes a bit of thinking, a few extra moments of hard concentration despite the fog in his mind, and he comes very close to simply flopping over with no finesse when his muscles all threaten to merely collapse. It is worth the effort, he decides, when he gets to pull Madara in to his chest and he feels those long sturdy legs straighten out at last.   
Then both of them are melting, sinking in to the blankets and in to each other, and if heaven was the release then the afterglow is sheer nirvana. 

With Tobirama at his back, strong arms holding him close to his chest, the exhaustion he felt earlier comes back full force and bone deep. A pleasant hum settles into him despite his sore muscles, his mind blank and quiet in a way he’s never experienced, eyes refusing to do so much as flutter open as he lays there.   
He doesn’t have to leave this time. A soft sigh of contentment escapes him at the thought, one hand blindly patting around for one of Tobirama’s to link their fingers together while they bask in the aftermath of their love making. It takes all the energy he has left, unconsciousness creeping up on him and steadily deepening his breaths.   
“Love you.” The words are mumbled and perhaps a bit slurred but he’s gone before he can hear if Tobirama responds. A final fleeting thought crosses his mind concerning their state and he can only hope Tobirama has the energy to clean them as he slips off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown  
> Hashirama: Officer_Jennie  
> Izuna: Raendown

It’s cold in his rooms. This is the first thought that occurs to him upon waking, followed quickly by the instinctive curl of his body towards whatever delightful heat source his limbs seem to have wrapped themselves around. Several minutes pass as he slowly drifts back in the direction of sleep - until finally the stray thought enters his mind that there shouldn’t be anything warmer than him in the bed, at least nothing the size of whatever that is pressed against his front, fitting so perfectly against the cradle of his hips in a way only one thing ever has.  
Eyes popping open, Tobirama stares in wonder at the man in his arms. Morning sunlight spills in through the cracks between his window curtains just enough to illuminate the lax body and messy hair of his beloved phoenix partner. And wow is his hair ever messy. Waist length and boasting more volume than half the kingdom put together, when it is brushed out as neat and tidy as any Captain should be it is a waterfall of dark silk, a temptation for Tobirama’s fingers on any given day. Now after a bath and vigorous sex and a full night of sleep it is little more than a tangled bush. Any poor soul who dips their fingers inside that mass at the moment will probably lose a few of them within.   
He is still a sight for sore eyes. Tobirama smiles and bends his neck to nuzzle at the top of Madara’s spine, gently pressing kisses against the one patch of skin visible through the hopeless tangles. Whether perfectly put together or rumpled as hell he is still the best thing Tobirama has ever woken up to and the very sight of his peacefully slumbering face is enough to bring forth a veritable flood of sappy emotions.   
Unfortunately he isn’t given a chance to do anything with those embarrassing feelings. His languid morning plans are interrupted a moment later by the sound of a fist banging politely on his bedroom door, every muscle in his body going tense and his arms tightening around Madara so quickly he hears the man stir with murmured protests.   
“His Majesty the High King summons you to an audience at once, Your Highness.” The voice that called to them is half-familiar. One of Hashirama’s personal guards, he is sure of it.  
Fear chokes his breathing and memories of all the times Butsuma summoned him in just the same way rise unbidden. Has he somehow misjudged his relationship with Hashirama? Has he mistaken the man’s empathy for mercy? It seems quite out of character for him to send an official summons rather than come speak to them himself. Unless…  
Unless he intends to officially banish them in the capacity of his full rank, a public dismissal. Surely he has gone to speak with one of the other phoenixes in the castle by now and he will be well aware that Madara has had sufficient time to come back to himself. Tobirama curls tighter around his lover’s body with protective instinct until the banging comes again with slightly more insistence.   
“We will answer his majesty,” he calls back, only barely able to force enough volume to be heard.   
Now is the hour when they will discover their true fate once and for all. In the face of this unexpected beginning to the day he finds himself much more afraid than he expected to be after so long _waiting_ for this very conversation. 

Banging on his door this early in the morning is never a good sign. Though it occurs to him rather quickly that he’s not in his own quarters. If the silk pillows and the mattress made of clouds isn’t a dead giveaway then the man currently doing his best to curl full body around him is.   
Whatever the person wants is too muffled for him to make out personally but Tobirama’s answer tells him all he needs to know. He waits just long enough to be sure the person has left to roll over, not at all ready to face the music despite knowing full well neither of them have a choice anymore.   
The night prior had encapsulated all of his previous dreams and more, though he knows there are several cans of worms they’ll need to unpack later. But it had been so _perfect_ , their new freedom coming out to dance, fear and any thought of caution drowned out in the euphoria racing in their veins.   
Hashirama had found out and Tobirama had been certain they would be fine. Madara had let himself get sucked into that hope, that daydream, and now something settles like rot in his gut from how still his prince is in his arms.   
Neither of them seem so certain anymore.   
“I’m here.” He takes a moment to move the hair out of Tobirama’s face, letting the tips of their noses brush together, skimming his fingers down the pale skin of his jaw. It’s not much of an assurance but it’s all he has at the moment, the knowledge that whatever may come they’ll face it together.   
That being said, they _do_ have to face it and not being in his own room brings up an issue all its own. Bursting into flames the other day had ruined one of his better sets of soft armor and had also conveniently left him with no clothes. Unless Tobirama has thought ahead to fetch him some they might have a problem.   
His brow is still wrinkled with worry so Madara leans up to kiss it twice, flopping back down after to scowl up at the ceiling.   
“If we’re to meet with the king I can’t exactly go like this. You don’t happen to have any guard uniforms lying around, do you?” Honestly not his best effort at lightening up the mood but he hates to see Tobirama so apprehensive.

Of all the things he might have expected his partner to say, an allusion to a secret fantasy he cannot possibly know about is not an option Tobirama had considered. It startles a laugh out of him. Barely more than a small puff of air but it’s enough to break a little bit of the tension as his mind takes a brief detour down some roads they may now have to abandon. It would have been a good time being able to surprise Madara with that. Maybe they can steal an outfit on their way out.  
Tilting his head for a proper kiss helps him wrap himself in the calm that every member of court must learn to project before he extricates himself from their embrace with monumental reluctance.   
“No, I do not happen to have any spare uniforms simply lying about.”  
Striding towards his frankly oversized closet, filled with more clothes than he could ever hope to wear even if there were three of him, Tobirama furrows his brow. Fear is passing quickly as his mind compartmentalizes it away and in its absence he feels defiant. He feels ready to fight, ready to scream the whole castle down just to force the idiots around him to see reason. Miles upon miles of silk and satin and brocade and all sorts of frippery lay before him like a temptation he doesn’t bother to deny. His hands begin pulling items down and judging them, discarding them, tossing them off to one side as he gives voice to the frenetic energy rising inside of him.   
“That is not to say that I will allow anyone but myself to see you in such a state. If his majesty wishes to speak to us about our relationship then he will have to suffer _seeing_ our relationship. Let the whole damn world see it and I hope their sensibilities are so offended it melts their rotten little brains.”  
Madara is gaping at him when he storms back towards the bed with a manic grin, purpose in his steps and silk in his hands just a bit too wide to fit his own shoulders.   
“How’s this for showing them all who you belong to, hm?”

He’s gone mad. Fear of whatever is about to happen to them has no doubt infected his brain and Tobirama has officially gone mad.  
Madara tells him as much, though it only makes his manic grin wider.   
“I can’t just- just _traipse_ around the palace in a _prince’s silks_!” Even as he says it, staring at the clothes held out for him, he knows he has little other choice besides maybe the down soft robes meant for lounging in after baths. One glance down has him heaving himself up with a sigh; wearing royal clothes might be a bad decision but at least they won’t leave the smattering of bruises across his chest on prominent display.   
Dressing him in such a clear display of ownership seems to give Tobirama confidence at least, which boosts Madara’s own in turn. Hair no longer a matted mess, back straight and head held high with pride and the self-importance expected of a guard captain, he turns to face his prince, fire in his eyes and a serious scowl set at his mouth.   
No one but his love will ever see his fear, will ever deserve to see him as anything but the fierce warrior. The sword and shield for the kingdom’s high prince. His heart might beat fast, hand might itch for the comfort of his blade, but they will not see him falter a single step.   
“Let’s get this over with. I’ve got better things to do than deal with stuffy high species all morning. The new recruits still need to be smacked around a bit before they’re ready for the drills next week.” Bluffing his confidence, Madara huffs, waving impatiently towards the door as if to hurry them on. It’s almost a given that Tobirama will see through his facade but that matters little. One doesn’t need to be too convincing to act as support and they both must face what comes without showing their true feelings.   
Though, if they’re to be banished, it won’t do them too much more harm to throw a few snarled words here and there. Assuming they’re aimed at people other than the king and the other princes, of course. That thought is just bright enough to pull Madara’s lips into a sharp grin, ready to finally knock a few of those snobs that dare to turn their nose up at him down a few pegs if need be.

Projecting confidence in a possible outcome as though it is assured, he can definitely get behind that tactic. There’s nothing like an uncaring nose turned up in the air to drive the fools around them wild with petty indignation. It works especially well on the idiotic high races that fill the king’s court, all of whom desperately need to feed their own oversized egos by drawing the attention of everyone in the room to themselves. He sort of hopes any witnesses in the room grind a few of their teeth out with annoyance for how little he and his partner care about their opinions.   
Before they leave the room he stops Madara, spins him around and pins him against the door for a heated kiss. He looks so damn good in Tobirama’s clothing, much too good to resist setting aside a few moments to appreciate him, rubbing their bodies against each other for the sheer pleasure of having nothing but such thin layers of material between them.   
When he pulls away they are both breathless and panting, sharing a grin as they turn for the door. Just before it opens they both pull on their serious expression once more. Then they step outside and march through the corridors like it is _their_ castle, _their_ kingdom, their right to be here as much as anyone else. In his peripheral vision Tobirama notes Kawarama stepping out of his own rooms to watch them go by and it’s strange that he doesn’t look particularly worried but there’s no time to focus on his youngest brother right now.   
His sensitive ears pick up on the whispers that follow after them, the exclamations as people take note that Madara is dressed in clothing much too fine for his station, clothing more fit for a prince to wear. A flash of pride runs through him that his lover is holding up so well under the scrutiny without even that light flush that colors the tips of his ears when he is embarrassed but it is muted and drowned out by the pride of having Madara walk beside him for once, equals, partners, not a single thought spared for their respective ranks or who should walk behind who.   
Their journey comes to an end as they approach the ornate doors leading to the throne room where their fate awaits them. He wonders if the entire court will be gathered or if they are to be spared that shame and sentenced instead in front of minimal witnesses. It doesn’t really matter either way but he can’t help the wondering anyway.   
Looking to his side he finds Madara looking back with eyebrow raised in question, silently asking how he wants to proceed. For a moment Tobirama considers taking the man’s hand. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. What stops him is knowing that the sheer mortification of doing something as mushy as _holding hands_ in public is likely to reduce them both to stuttering idiots. Not very conducive to the act of the brave rebel pair standing up for the freedom they deserve.   
“Shall we?” he asks instead, one hand on the door and ready to face whatever lies beyond it as long as he has Madara at his side. 

The day’s already proving to be a taxing one. No sooner had he sat down when a dozen or more people and missives seem to be vying for Hashirama’s attention. Drama turned scandal between two of his court members, another snake trying to gain his favor and whisper in his ear, a demand from his father despite the man no longer being in any position to demand anything of him. He finds himself quite grateful for all the stuffy meetings he’s had to sit through over the years because they’re all that keep him from throwing his arms up and trying to start over fresh tomorrow.   
One particular matter holds the majority of his attention, circling around in his mind, and he can’t help but glance over at the guard to his right. It’s extremely short notice, barely any time given to prepare for or fix any of the potential mess, and he can only hope he’s making the right decision.   
His head snaps back to attention when the doors to the throne room open and the room goes still.   
Whoever says Tobirama doesn’t have a flair for dramatics will be biting their tongue now. Hashirama purses his lips at the sight of him and Madara, knowing the coming headache will not be pretty.   
Neither of the two bother to so much as glance at anyone else, marching at each other’s side towards him, stopping at a respectable distance to give proper bows. When they straighten back up there’s a certain hardness in his brother’s eyes, a set to his jaw that says quite clearly he _knows_ what he’s doing and _refuses_ to be sorry for any of it.   
The whispering has already started but Hashirama puts a stop to it by raising one hand. A king who can’t stay ahead of the rumors, who seems unaware of the goings on of his court, will appear uninformed and easily skirted around. With that in mind, he doesn’t give Madara’s attire a second glance, waving his hand once in gesture at the rest of the court.   
“Leave us.”   
Most respond to his command immediately, though many turn their noses up at his brother and the phoenix at his side. Others send Hashirama disapproving looks for dismissing them but he pays them no mind, projecting his right to give them orders as he pleases and ignoring their miffed huffs.   
It can never be that easy, of course. There’s always at least one snake in the garden and one comes close enough to hiss at him then, eager to turn this latest scandal to his advantage.   
“Your majesty I _must_ protest. This _display_ of theirs is clearly meant to undermine your authority and cannot be condoned!”   
“Perhaps you misheard me, Lord Shimura.” Not even bothering to turn his head towards the man, he commands once more, “The court will leave me.”   
As he hears the poor excuse of a man all but storm off, he gestures for his second guard to leave them as well, waiting for the doors to shut to begin.

With his body facing straight ahead and his muscles tense with the need to resist scratching his nose Izuna rolls his eyes to one side where he can see his brother a little better. He’s curious to know what Lord Shimura meant by ‘display’ and he’s a little shamed by his own inattentiveness that it takes a moment to figure it out. At first he sees nothing remarkably out of the ordinary. In his defense Madara spends enough time around the High Prince even beyond what is required of his position that it’s quite easy to mistake them for a single person. The fact that they seem to be wearing clothes taken from the same closet doesn’t register quite as shockingly as it maybe should.    
He does realize the inappropriate connotations, however. Sadness touches him. To fall for one so far above his own station, he wonders where his sibling found the courage to reach for things he cannot have and whether he even bothered to consider the consequences beforehand. The man might be impulsive with his temper, perhaps, but Madara is usually still the sort of man who thinks his actions through.   
It’s hard to remain still through the shock of discovery and the lance of fear as he wonders what fate is about to befall his most precious person but somehow he manages. As far as Izuna knows there’s no real reason that he, specifically, should have been allowed to stay and witness this sentencing but he is glad all the same. If his brother is to be banished - or worse, sentenced to death - then Izuna will have no regrets about missing his chance to say goodbye or to memorize that beloved face one more time. There really isn’t much else to do when standing next to the High King himself unless he wants to follow Madara in to whatever punishment awaits him and he knows his brother, knows it would hurt him even more to go knowing Izuna is not safe.    
All he can do for now is remain at his post and watch.   
And wait.   
And hope.

Once the King dismisses his court there is silence between them while the room slowly empties. Izuna’s form is just barely visible in the shadow of the throne and Tobirama mourns briefly that one brother will be forced to witness the fate of another.   
He doesn’t spare much time for those thoughts, however, too caught up in the pounding rush of blood in his ears, the thundering of his heart in his chest. It’s almost a wonder that his pulse doesn’t echo against the walls of the cavernous empty room. Hashirama settles a little more against the back of his seat, shifting his weight and tilting his head as if to view them from another angle like scientific specimens, and the mental comparison is just enough for his latent rage to boil over. If they are to be punished then he may as well do something worth being punished for.   
“I _humbly_ present myself for your Majesty’s consideration,” he grinds out between his teeth, dipping his spine in a mockery of another subservient bow. “Should I roll over too? Bend my neck for you to place it on a block?”  
Madara is already choking on some sort of stifled noise but Tobirama finds that he can’t quite stop the flood now that it has begun - nor does he wish to.   
“One wonders if his _regal majesty_ would be so kind as to inform me of what crime I am to be accused? What law I have broken? If there is scripture against falling in love then I must confess I have never come across it.” His eyes narrow until he is watching his brother’s impassive face through slitted lids. “If I had then I’m sure I would have burned the document to save future generations from such utter stupidity.”  
Admitting that he is ready and willing to deface legal documentation, property of the kingdom and the King himself, may not be the best path to tread right now. That doesn’t mean he is going to take the words back, though, because he means them wholeheartedly and without shame. Madara’s choking noises increase in volume. Tobirama continues to ignore him, taking a single step forward and ignoring as well the way Izuna instinctively steps forward to match him with one hand on his weapon. A loyal soldier, that one. Or perhaps responding out of sheer habit.  
“There is nothing wrong with falling in love,” he spits out. “I should be able to love whoever I want and _damn_ anyone who cares for Madara’s _rank_. As if that matters! It doesn’t! The only thing that matters is that he makes me happy - and that is more than I can say for any of the empty marriages your _high and mighty nobles_ favor!”  
Nothing moves at all in Hashirama’s frame but there is still a tense moment as though his brother is waiting for something. Yet even in high dudgeon Tobirama knows better than to reach for certain heights that he will not be able to climb down from. There are indeed many politics involved in the King’s match with his wife, the Uzumaki princess, but theirs is an alliance that quickly paved the way for love and to question their bond would be to bring the wrath of hell itself down on his own head.   
He’s in the middle of a good temper tantrum not a mental breakdown, he does still recognize where the boundaries are, so he lifts his chin and reaches out to take Madara’s hand in his own. In part to soothe his partner in to stillness and in part because he feels it is his right. Why should he not also find the one he wants to spend his life with? Embarrassment be damned!   
“Send me to the executioner if you will. Banish me from these lands if you won’t. Deliver me in to the hands of the humans themselves if you must but know that you are perpetuating the most asinine and pointless of traditions. What, precisely, sets a phoenix below any of the other races? For that matter, what sets a nyx above them? Madara has as much right as anyone to stand at my side and I have the same right to stand at his if I choose to!”  
By the time Hashirama finally shifts his weight to lean forward on his throne Tobirama realizes that he may have never in his life strung so many words together at one time. He also realizes he may have just dug both of their graves deeper than they already were.  
Their King, his brother, opens his mouth and Tobirama prays that Madara will forgive him before they find their end. 

“If it was our father sitting here on the throne before you I would understand your anger. Have I given you any reason to believe I am him?”   
Tobirama’s defensive stance tugs at the softest spot in his chest, one reserved for all of his little brothers. Have they truly drifted so far apart? When had they stopped confiding in the other, trading secrets and laughter as trusting siblings should? When had their relationship devolved into their separate ranks above all else?   
“If so then I have failed you, both as a brother and king. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me.”   
It tears at him how taken aback his brother seems by his words, though he gives him little time to recover. Leaning forward, he makes sure to catch Tobirama’s eyes, hating the thought of speaking to him as his _king_ and not his _brother_ but knowing it’s necessary all the same.   
“That being said, take care how you speak to me. You have my love, Tobirama, but even the thickest walls could have ears.” No amount of familial blood could make any of his speech admissible in front of his court, especially so soon after he’s taken the throne when his every action and decision are weighed so critically.   
It’s hardly a scolding and Tobirama looks anything but sorry still, hand in hand with the man at his side, the phoenix he’s prepared to die for. To lose all rights to his name just to have the right to love.   
“It goes without saying how poorly the news of your relationship will be taken. Especially given this bold statement.” At least Madara has the decency to look a _little_ sorry, eyes flickering towards Izuna as he stands there in clothes typically reserved for those far above his station, all but stamped in Tobirama’s claim.   
“There are no laws technically against this but you know the position you’ve put me in. The council will expect Madara to be stripped of his title at the very least and will demand you to be married to prevent this from happening again.” He can see the muscles in his brother’s jaw clenching, the light curl of smoke emanating from Madara’s hair, how their hands tighten around each other’s, and finds it infinitely sad they’ve ever had to hide at all.   
“Because of that, I’ve decided to name Izuna the captain of my guard. In case anyone ever questions the trust I have in Madara and his family to protect the kingdom.”

“You’re _what_?”   
He can’t have heard that right, because it didn’t sound anything like ‘from henceforth you’re banished from my kingdom’ or whatever royal decree that will surely be slapped down on their heads for breaking such a long-held social custom. “What do you even _mean_ by that, why would you-”   
Cutting himself off now is a bit too late, considering he’s just all but yelled at the king. While questioning his decision and tangentially his authority. And speaking without permission.   
After storming into his throne room and creating an upset by flaunting his taboo relationship with the high prince and current heir.   
“Ahhh, forgive me, your majesty…” Having the king’s attention is a bit unnerving. Seated regally upon his throne, head high and expression steady, it’s hard to see Hashirama as anything other than the high ruler he was born to be. Despite their past interactions being pleasant and somewhat casual considering the difference in their ranks, Madara finds himself more than a little intimidated by his presence.   
But now that he has his attention anyway… He clears his throat, resisting the urge to shift his weight under the heavy gaze.   
“It was never my- _our_ intention to cause an uproar over... _us_.” Squeezing the warm hand in his own helps calm the thoughts racing through his head, thrown off by whatever point the king had been trying to make. “But how does that, our relationship, have anything to do with my brother?”

That is a damn good question, one that Izuna can’t wait to hear the answer to even if he’s fairly sure he already has an idea of what that answer might be. He is not a humble phoenix, he knows his own skills and his own worth and he will not stand for anyone trying to downplay either of those things.    
But Captain of the King’s personal guard? It is a position he’s never once in his life thought to aspire to. He had been happy through the years serving in the middle ranks and he is happy now serving as an officer, was ecstatic today to be trusted with guarding the King alone this morning instead of with another partner as he is usually assigned. Not in his wildest dreams could he have guessed the incredible honor that might be offered to him today.   
A small bit of the shine rubs off to know that he is most likely being given this position as a political maneuver, a counterweight against the scandal his elder brother created, but he also knows that his Majesty would not give him a position he can not handle. An incompetent idiot leading the soldiers who guard the most important man in the Seven High Races? What a disaster that would be. He can see the compliment past the unintended insult and he is more than willing to accept it as is.    
He definitely plans to have words with his brother later over this secret he has apparently been keeping, though. It wasn’t so long ago that very brother claimed they were close enough to tell each other everything. Well apparently not. Hiding the fact that he somehow fumbled his way in to a relationship with one of the High Princes is _big stuff_ and it rankles to know that Madara didn’t trust him to be discreet, didn’t trust him with something that obviously means so much to them both.    
A grin fights its way on to his face and Izuna bites the inside of his cheek to hold it back. Madara had better be prepared for a lifetime of teasing if this all goes down as well as it seems to be heading for. A promotion to the Captain of the King’s personal guard will put him a single rank above his brother, a technical level up in authority, and he can’t _wait_ to lord that over the older man’s head at every given opportunity. That’s what the man gets for keeping secrets.    
The look of utter shock on both Madara’s and the High Prince’s faces is an excellent start to his new career path.

“Harsh phrasing aside, Tobirama’s right.” A sigh escapes Hashirama at the thought, disgust at the clear prejudice thick in the air of his palace. “Many in the court see your species before your worth as a Captain and will try to use this relationship as damning proof they’re right to look down on you. I can’t exactly throw a banquet in your honor to support you.”   
It’s a shame he can’t, really. Feasts and parties have always been such stuffy affairs in the palace and he used to dream of changing that. He still does, as a matter of fact. If it wouldn’t be a disastrous way to start his reign he’d be tempted to suggest a wedding. Settling for not banishing or executing his brother seems a far cry off that dream and makes him want to fidget in his spot, not at all certain if he had but _loathing_ the idea that Tobirama had thought him capable of such things.   
First, he must be a king. He can question him as his brother later.   
"Madara will keep his rank, Tobirama his position in court, and Izuna will have his promotion. To make my position on the matter of your relationship known I will bring it up to the court and announce my decision. Any other issues or problems that arise will be left on your shoulders. Is that clear?”   
He levels them with a serious stare for a few moments, making sure his words sink in. It’s only once he’s certain they have that he nods once, clapping his hands together with a grin.   
“Now that that’s out of the way!” As soon as he’s out of his throne any pretense is dropped and he’s beaming as he strides up to his brother, clapping him maybe a little too hard on the shoulder in his excitement. “I wish you would have told me sooner! How many years of teasing have I missed?”

“Uh…”  
The change in tone comes so fast he is tempted to check himself for signs of whiplash but Hashirama bowls right on passed that, taking a firm grip on his shoulder and giving him that same old bright eyed smile that he is embarrassed to say he can’t remember when he last saw. Even more amazing is the way Hashirama proves how well they still know each other despite the distance that has crept between them, pausing without demanding further answer, giving Tobirama the time he needs for his emotions to catch up with his brain.   
Apparently they aren’t going to die today. Nor are they to be banished. Not even stripped of their respective ranks. Instead they are, it seems, being congratulated by the High King himself.  
Tobirama pauses and mentally shakes himself out of that mindset. Off of the throne this is not the King; this is his brother, one whom he should make a point to spend a little more time with outside of their royal duties. It’s been much too long since he first allowed himself to sink in to Madara and close the rest of the world away. With freedom comes many things and he finds himself a little dizzy with all the possibilities.   
“I...thank you, brother,” he says in place of an answer for that ridiculous question. Hashirama only beams at him a little brighter.   
Behind the throne Izuna dares to lean out of the shadows and blink at his own sibling. Tobirama notes a familiar light in his eyes, the same look Madara always gets when he’s found something funny or embarrassing to tease someone with, but that’s really none of his business. His focus stays on the warm hand wrapped tightly around his own and the big brown eyes smiling at him expectantly.   
Quietly, just between them, he lowers his head and whispers, “I’m sorry,” in the hopes that Hashirama will know what he means by it. Sorry that he could believe his own sibling capable of passing such awful judgment on them when he should know the man better than that, sorry that he’s placed Hashirama in such a position and made life just a little more difficult for all of them.   
Sorry that he could ever ever compare him to the monster they call father.   
Then, because he cannot say it enough he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, letting the relief settle deep in his bones.   
“Thank you.”

Even dazed as he is by the realization that, somehow, beyond all reason, everything will be all right, Madara can tell the two siblings need a moment. There’s a familiar bratty head of hair tilting in his direction anyway. With a final squeeze he lets Tobirama’s hand go, leaving them to their whispered conversation and whatever disgusting display of tears that are forming in the king’s eyes.   
Something’s glinting in Izuna’s eyes when he approaches and whatever it is can’t be good. He doesn’t bother letting him speak, crossing his arms with a huff and doing his best to _not_ feel guilty over hiding a years long relationship from his only family member anywhere within a hundred mile radius.   
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”   
The snickering tells him he’ll hear it anyway, whether now or later. He swats him atop the head for it, though not nearly as hard as he usually would. Knowing he came close to losing him, losing any chance of seeing or speaking to him ever again, almost makes him want to pull his brother close and take a moment for themselves as well.   
Almost. Not here in the throne room when all the snobbish high species are no doubt just beyond the door waiting to be let back in. He’s never been one for public displays and sibling affection is no exception.

“You owe me big time, aniki.” Madara scowls at him and Izuna dares to reach out and crack a fist against the other’s unarmored shoulder. “Keeping me in the dark, what were you thinking, huh? As if I could ever disapprove of anyone who makes you _happy_.”  
His tongue catches between his teeth, a childish smile that only Madara gets to see. As the King himself said, they’ve got years of teasing their brothers to catch up on, a task that he is more than happy to tackle head on as soon as possible. It won’t hurt anyone to start by teasing his brother for the sappy things their High Prince blurted in his impassioned - yet inevitably pointless - speech.   
If he were a more merciful sibling he might add his own sappy phrases and admit that he is happy for them both, that he is proud of his sibling for forging his own path and following his heart to find a place where it is clear he belongs. Their relationship must be a strong one indeed if they are both so ready to sacrifice their lives for the chance to be together as freely as any other couple. Unfortunately for the dolt standing in front of him he is anything but merciful.   
“You smell like smoke, you know. I hope his Highness is ready for that stench to invade everything he owns if he plans to cuddle you up in to his bed every night. Gross.”  
Madara squawks and tries to hit him but Izuna dances away with an unrepentant laugh.   
Underneath the humor, he tries very hard not to think of all the many reasons Madara might carry the scent of smoke and fire with him so strongly. From over-excitement in all the ways he never wants to know about to the unlikely event that he has recently died and come back to life in a blazing pyre, whatever it is they can talk about it later where his reactions won’t take away from the emotional moment at hand.   
Everything is going to be just fine, he decides. Problems he hadn’t even been aware existed until they marched in to the throne room on a warpath have already been solved, the brother he always thought must be lonely with how much time he sank in to his job has apparently been doing the horizontal tango with a _prince_ for _years_ now, and he himself will be living a much cushier life from here on out. His new rank will come with its own stresses and complications of course but it’s nothing he isn’t prepared to handle.   
“Is it everything you wanted it to be?” he asks. Let Madara figure out what he means. He’s not even sure which part he’s referring to himself but it seems as good a way as any to ask a serious question inside a joke - their usual method of communication. 

“Why, are you jealous?” Far from a real answer but verbal jabs have always been natural between them.   
Izuna’s gaze flickers towards his prince, nose wrinkling, and he ducks just in time to avoid being smacked atop the head again. “Not like that, brat!”   
His brother laughs again and Madara will never in his life admit how relieved he feels at the sound. As if it all clicks together at last, cuts through the final fog of doubt that this might be a fever dream brought on by an infected wound or sour food.   
They’re fine. They’re going to be fine. His prince will remain a prince, won’t be forced out of his home to become a vagabond, and Izuna won’t be forced to bear the burdens of his choices.   
With a puff of laughter of his own, light as the feeling bubbling up in his chest, he turns to look back at his prince. _His_ prince, for all the world to know, the distance between them now empty of obstacles.   
All he’s ever wanted has been to be at his side, content enough in the shadows, to love and hold in secret. To walk by his side, for their families to know and accept them, support them, to have the chance to love in the open without care of consequences or how others might see - it’s all he ever could have wanted and more.

It’s a relief to recognize the feeling of eyes watching him from across the room, a perfect excuse to turn away from the disgustingly emotional conversation Hashirama wants him to have. Tobirama loves the man, he really does, but there is only one person he wants in his arms right now - or ever, really. He’s never been a big fan of the way Hashirama drapes himself over all and sundry as if such crass emotional displays are perfectly fine. It will certainly be amusing to see how his time as King works to curb that particular habit or if perhaps the royal court will all have to get used to his over-emotional ways.  
When he turns to see who is staring at him he is unsurprised to meet his lover’s eyes, soft and happy with a hint of disbelief still hovering around the edges. Tobirama can relate. It will probably take a while before he stops waking up every morning wondering if this has all been some sort of wild hallucination or incredible dream.  
He can’t wait for the sight of Madara in the mornings with his messy hair and warm limbs to be the thing that brings him back to reality each day.   
After all the time they have spent hiding it takes an unexpected amount of courage to hold out his hand, inviting Madara to his side, and he is stupidly proud of his lover when Madara answers by climbing down from the dais and fitting himself right up against Tobirama’s side as though they are perfectly alone in the room. Nothing, he thinks, will ever feel as right as this. Standing proudly together with Madara held tight while Izuna and Hashirama both set up a chorus of soft cat calls to gently tease him, this is exactly the sort of thing he hoped for only in his wildest fantasies.   
Burying his face in Madara’s hair, he murmurs quietly so their brother’s voices cover the softness of his voice.   
“I love you. We have some interesting times ahead of us but...I don’t care. I love you. That is all I need.” The sappy part of him still thinking about his conversation with Hashirama wants to add that Madara himself is all he needs but it’s not quite true. He needs air, he needs his natural connection to water, he needs food and drink and he needs the support of his three brothers. He needs Madara to be happy and for that they will need Izuna.   
How fortunate for them that all of these things are theirs now, freely offered even without being asked to abandon everything they have ever known.  
“We certainly got lucky didn’t we, love?”

He could’ve gone without the catcalling. It hadn’t even occurred to him as a possibility when he’d answered his koi’s silent call, the wash of relief and belonging so strong he’d lost himself to it, the other two in the room fading away against the warmth of Tobirama’s gaze.   
Ignoring the creeping embarrassment proves much easier than usual, still feeling light, the moment colored a touch by lingering disbelief that’s quickly overshadowed with swelling hope and pride.   
Nothing can compare to this. Nothing ever will. At last being able to wrap their arms around each other, knowing the future may hold hardships but that they’ll face it _together_ , siblings at their side as well.   
Burying himself in Tobirama’s embrace, Madara can’t help but wonder why he’d ever resisted. How many times have they discussed coming out of the shadows? How many heated arguments have left them tentative to touch the other, wasting precious seconds when they already had precious few?   
Hindsight is a terrible power and makes him scowl into the silk in front of him, ready to give past-Madara a stern talking to for being so stubborn.   
“You know… I usually hate it when you’re right, because it means I’m _wrong_.” Feeling Tobirama shift at the mirror of his own past words, Madara pulls back just enough to see his face, reaching up to touch his cheek - and firmly telling himself to _ignore_ the peanut gallery jeering at them. High King or not, Hashirama’s liable to get a smack atop his head as well if he doesn’t _quit it_.   
“I guess it’s not _too_ bad to be wrong. Just this once.”

Assuming his snootiest expression, Tobirama looks down his nose at the man in his arms.   
“We can’t all be right all the time,” he drawls. Madara gives him the flattest look he’s ever seen and it breaks his facade immediately in favor of quiet laughter. His eyes flick over to their idiot King who has both hands folded under his chin and is fluttering his eyelashes at the two of them like a love-struck maiden.  
“It seems we were both wrong.”  
Wrong to assume their own future before the verdict was passed, although he stands by the caution that kept them alive during Butsuma’s reign. It’s been a long hard road getting here but he knows that he will will never regret so much as a single moment. Without the fear they’ve lived with for so many years he could never appreciate what he has now as much as he does. And he does appreciate it. He knows damn well that he still has many things to discuss with Hashirama and chief among them is his need to express the gratitude he feels towards his brother for giving them the greatest gift of all: freedom.   
Madara grumbles against him about stuck up idiots who can never admit to winning a fight and it’s so _normal_ that Tobirama finds himself drawn in immediately, responding out of sheer habit with a snarky comment about pompous guards who need to check their facts before they fly off the handle. In moments they are bickering but it remains light-hearted and neither of them bother to step away from their embrace, poking at each other’s chests to make their points and snarling at each other with laughter hidden behind their teeth, faces so close it would take little more than a dip of his chin for them to be kissing.   
And why not, he wonders. Why shouldn’t they be kissing?  
Freedom tastes like the morning breath neither of them had time to clean off their teeth and Tobirama knows that he would have it no other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all intents and purposes this is pretty much the end of the story. The final chapter is more of a smutty epilogue so if you usually skip those parts then this is where the plot stuff is actually finished.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara: Officer_Jennie  
> Tobirama: Raendown

The past few months have been a dream within a nightmare. A second assassination attempt which luckily exposed the human cell within the capitol. Upturned noses around every corner, though the whispers have died down over time, especially with the king’s firm stance on their relationship known. Insubordination has thankfully not been an issue beyond his Lieutenant near blasting him off into space when she discovered _why_ she’s had to deal with his duties so often over the years.  
Izuna’s promotion has made him insufferable and Madara groans at the thought now, throwing the doors to Tobirama’s private quarters open and making a beeline to flop down on the bed. Having his little brother lording his rank over him with a puffed out chest isn’t exactly what he’d thought would happen and he longs to dunk the brat’s head in one of the many koi ponds dotted about the palace gardens to knock him down a peg. He might be faster and _technically_ higher in rank now but that means squat all against Madara’s born _rights_ as the older sibling.  
Nesting into the mass of pillows takes most of the stress away. It feels like home, surrounded by the now mixed scents of him and his prince, though it does once again bring into question the origins of his race. Burrowing and nudging around a pile of pillows makes it a little easier to believe phoenixes might be descendants of one of the aviary species, even if Madara doesn’t believe such hogwash.  
He has a bit of time before Tobirama retires and joins him for the day. Not long, just enough to attempt to relax and go over a few things in his head, mentally practicing what he’s been planning to say for _weeks_ but has always chickened out on last minute for any number of reasons.  
Not tonight.  
Tobirama’s always been the shameless one between them. Setting his blood boiling, embers on his skin, in his hair, from just a few words or a smoldering glance. For once _he_ wants to be the one to do that, even if he can only manage a sentence or two.  
Assuming Tobirama’s in the mood, anyway. Madara wriggles over onto his stomach, pulling at a loose thread of embroidery on one of the decorative throw pillows. Ignoring the pit of anxiety induced nausea in his gut, he settles in to wait, praying for the strength and bravery that have so often fled him when confronted with such _intimate_ displays.

It takes a bit of quick talking to send Kawarama away at the door, to convince his younger sibling not to follow him inside and continue their conversation. Tobirama absolutely loves spending time with his brothers, something he‘s been taking more time to do lately to make up for his failure to do so over the past few years, but he draws a clear line at allowing them in to his private rooms. He himself doesn’t mind so much, really. It’s the look in Madara’s eye that stops him, that miniscule tightening of his jawline that makes Tobirama smile even as he rolls his eyes. His lover has always been a little territorial so it’s no big surprise that he has claimed the rooms they now share as his, uncomfortable whenever they are invaded by anyone that isn’t them or one of the usual maids. Tobirama finds the whole thing amusing, really, especially since Madara refuses to acknowledge that he sees this as his own territory now.  
After distracting Kawarama and sending the younger man off down the hall Tobirama opens the door and stops before he can make it any farther in to the room. Every so often it still hits him hard. The sight of Madara so casually existing in their shared space, calm and unafraid of what anyone might think to find him here, he can think of no better sight to greet him after a long day.  
Closer inspection, however, reveals that he may not be quite as calm as he seemed at first. Tobirama closes the door and makes his way around the massive bed while dark eyes track his every movement. Something in his expression is tense, nervous, and it’s hard to tell at a glance what may have set him off. When Tobirama is within arm’s length he reaches out to brush his fingers against a pale cheek, sinking down on to the mattress so they sit facing each other.  
“You look like something’s on your mind. Is everything alright?”  
The way he is clutching that pillow is almost like he’s holding a shield in front of himself and the thought gives Tobirama pause. If someone has said something to hurt this man he will find them and show them what wrath there is in angry tides. Not everything has been sunshine and roses since their relationship finally went public. They have both had their fair share of bad days when those who have been against them from the start find another way to make their opinions known. 

He hasn’t even said anything yet and already Tobirama’s getting tense. The tightening of his jaw, the miniscule squint of his eyes - he’s mentally preparing for war. Over what, Madara can’t possibly fathom, but it certainly doesn’t give him high hopes for his plan.  
Not a word in and he’s projecting entirely the wrong vibe.  
Shifting a bit to make room, he catches Tobirama’s hand to tug him into his nest. His prince slots in at his side as if made to fit there, arms encircling him the moment he’s settled in.  
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. Everything’s fine, I’m just…” Nervous. Failing at being sexy before he’s even started to try. As out of his element as a phoenix in water and having _no idea_ how to even _start_ now that Tobirama’s taken his nervousness as something being wrong with him.  
Defaulting to his usual ways of communication seems like the best option, though he’s not sure if that’s the nerves talking or not. At least nuzzling up into his koi’s embrace feels as perfect as always, the arms pulling him close calming a bit of the panic static in his brain.  
“It’s just been a long day, is all. Just want to spend time with you.” Putting the decision of _how_ they spend time together in Tobirama’s court feels a bit like cheating but Madara’s never been one to care about that. A victory’s still a victory no matter the battle tactics and if Tobirama initiates something then he can go from there.  
Assuming the heart trying to beat its way up his throat takes a chill pill and lets him talk. Choking to death won’t be the best way to start trying to be sexier during their couplings.

Rather than answer straight away Tobirama hums in to the affectionate nuzzling. Madara says that nothing is wrong and yet the pulse in his throat is much too fast for him to be simply tired after a long day. A bit more observation is needed before he jumps the gun and starts reacting, however.  
Most of their communication has always been physical so it’s hardly a chore to fall back on what is familiar for now. A bit of shuffling puts his back to the headrest with his pretty phoenix settled in between his legs, leaning back against his chest and almost relaxing under the soft touch of fingers trailing up and down both arms. It’s not quite enough, though. Madara remains tensed in a subtle way that speaks of waiting for something to happen. What he might be waiting for eludes Tobirama still.  
Perhaps, he thinks, if he can relax the man enough he might open up of his own accord. And the best way to relax either one of them has always been physical affection. He starts with kisses, barely there, dusted across the top of shoulders clad in what he only now recognizes as one of the shirts he himself commissioned from the tailors, his own family crest stitched in to the lapels the way Mito is also granted the right to wear it. Madara squirms and Tobirama hides a grin in the man’s neck.  
So that’s it. Realization hit him like a lightning strike, leaving him hard pressed to fight back a huff of fond laughter. His lover is a passionate man yet always he has struggled to express himself and his desires. As a result it is usually Tobirama who must be the first one to reach out for them to engage in intimate activities  
It seems he must do so again now.  
“All you had to do was ask, love. I am always happy to...spend some time with you.” He pitches his voice low in to the purr that never fails to send shivers running down his lover’s spine. Right on cue he feels Madara tremble between his arms and smirks openly. What an excellent way to end their day. He’s not sure what put the phoenix in such a mood but he is grateful - and very willing.

_That voice_. That’s the one he’s spent _hours_ trying to imitate, the low purr that never fails to spike his interest and arousal. It does so now, his head tilting to the side to give his koi better access, shivering at the featherlight feel of fingers running across his chest.  
Melting into him is easy, natural. All he wants to do is let him set their pace, set the mood and tone of their love making. For a few minutes, that’s exactly what he does, letting his shirt fall open as Tobirama begins to remove it. Lets a hand smooth over his bare chest, the other in his hair used to tilt his head back into a deep kiss.  
Giving in would be easy. Wouldn’t lead to any pleasure lost on his end either since Tobirama’s so willing to leave him breathless and gasping. No one would even know he threw in the towel either since no one had born witness to the endless hours spent speaking aloud to himself, fighting past the choking embarrassment to fit his mouth around words that left him cringing in shame.  
But, really, the words don’t belong to _him_ \- aren’t _meant_ for him. They belong to Tobirama and the thought of hiding them any longer leaves just enough guilt in his chest to gather his courage and turn around to straddle his nyx.  
Tobirama has always fit so perfectly between his thighs, feels so good under his fingers. He takes a moment to admire the cut of his jaw, tracing it with his lips. Cups the back of his neck and nips at pale skin when he feels a hand squeeze at his arse.  
Now or never. He knows himself and if he hears so much as a single shameless word from his prince his own will die off in his throat, not even given the chance of life.  
Tobirama.” He takes a deep breath, forcing the tremor out of his voice. Quick thinking has him leaning to whisper in his princes ear, projecting as much confidence as he can muster. Determined to embody that voice that always leaves him quaking and ready to beg for more.  
“I’ve been rather naughty lately, wouldn’t you say?” Licking the shell of Tobirama’s ear, he pitches his voice even lower. “I think you might have to punish me, _my liege_. I want it - _you_. Want you to fuck me, to come so far inside of me I _taste_ it.”  
A beat, two. Nothing. No response beyond the slight twitch of muscle beneath him.  
He’s fucked up.  
Flailing backwards feels like an understated response, Madara making for the mass of blankets as he hears babbled nonsense falling from his own mouth.  
"Or never mind, don’t, you don’t have to do anything, long days for the both of us. Sleep sounds good and _you didn’t hear anything_ , let’s just forget this _ever happened_!” Comforter gripped tighter than a vice, Madara squeezes his eyes shut, ready to burst into flames from embarrassment. Living out the rest of his days in the comfort of hiding under the blankets sounds better to him at that moment than anything else the outside world could ever offer him.

He would be ashamed of how long is takes him to recover after those sinful words if not for how understandable it is - in his opinion - that he is this shocked to hear such filthy things from a man who is so embarrassed of his own appetites he cannot even ask for sex properly, let alone ask to be _punished_.  
Tobirama closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He’s never been so aroused in all his life. If he survives this he is definitely following through on his nearly forgotten plan to steal a spare set of the guards’ uniform and returning the favor. Scenarios and ideas already run rampant through his mind but first he must retrieve his mortified phoenix from where he has burrowed himself under the gathered nest of blankets, already leaking smoke as if it wasn’t clear by his wild backpedaling how clearly he misconstrued Tobirama’s stunned non-reaction.  
Crawling over to the huddled mass of embarrassment, Tobirama peels away what covers he can until he is down to the last layer that Madara appears to have a death grip on. A few gentle pats help him locate where the man’s head is for him to lean down and press kisses all around until he locates one poor defenseless ear to whisper against.  
“Madara.” His lover isn’t the only one who can dip in to a husky rasp, although he is of the personal - and startled - opinion that Madara’s is much more appealing. “Forgive me for such a poor reaction but I think you should know that if you had spoken only one more sentence I would have peaked in my trousers like an eager adolescent.”  
A wicked smirk makes its appearance as one hand wanders down to cup what he can tell is the man’s bottom, gently kneading the muscles.  
“It was very naughty of you to run away after making such a delicious invitation. Seems I will indeed have to punish you after all. You will remove this blanket right this instant or I will have you across my knee for a spanking, soldier.”  
He’s honestly not sure if he wants Madara to comply or not. 

A whimper escapes him. Hours spent in preparation for his own part, secret moments stolen in the little time he has alone, and not _once_ has he thought to prepare himself for the possibility of success. For what might come _after_.  
He finds his limbs are frozen for a few seconds, unwilling to cooperate and shocked still. Other parts of him have no issue with twitching to life, face and neck burning from how enticing a scenario his prince has laid out for him.  
It’s a little more than an instant later that he manages to peel the comforter away from himself, though how literal Tobirama meant his order remains to be seen. Madara can’t find it in him to so much as glance at the other man, relieved and _very interested_ but certain he’ll never live any of this down.  
How does Tobirama make it look so _easy_? Speaking of his desires as if they are merely facts, nothing to hold any guilt or shame for.  
Fingers grasp his chin, not painful but tight enough to make a point, to force him to look at his prince. His ruby eyes are set alight but stern and one glance has his mouth running before he can stop it.  
“I didn’t mean to run away, I just wasn’t certain you’d- I just didn’t think…” Trying to turn his head away proves impossible and he’s left staring at the bridge of Tobirama’s nose, not sure if he’s digging himself in or out of a hole - and not at _all_ convinced he doesn’t want whatever his prince chooses to do to him.  
Either way, he knows he wants to play, and a shaky breath helps settle him into the soldier he’s supposed to be.  
“Forgive me, Tobir- _my liege_. I didn’t mean to present myself and not…” Eyes flicker to the side as Madara flounders for the right words, fingers bunching up the fabric still clenched in his hands. “I, well...sorry?”

How hard he tries to play along and to protect himself at the same time is both heartwarming and arousing. Sometime later Tobirama should really take a long hard look at himself and figure out why seeing his lover so embarrassed is this enticing to him. For now he concentrates on turning Madara’s face this way and that as though he is inspecting the man.  
“I suppose you do look sorry but alas. You’ve misbehaved and it wouldn’t do to allow such things to go without being punished. One hopes you will learn your lesson well.”  
Actually he’s rather hoping Madara _won’t_ learn his lessons so they can revisit this sort of play again in the future. They haven’t even begun and he already knows this is something he will enjoy becoming a regular part of their bedroom activities. Unsurprising, he supposes, considering how much he’s always enjoyed taking charge during their intimacies. Where he finds power boring and mostly an inconvenience outside of the bedroom, he finds it no less than intoxicating here where it is just the two of them.  
“Your first lesson is that you will always obey me, that you will do what I tell you to _when_ I tell you to do it. Lay yourself across my knee, soldier, you are due a spanking.”  
Madara swallows thickly and blinks at him several times, most likely checking to see whether he is serious or not, but Tobirama allows him that one discrepancy. They are both new to this and it will take the phoenix a bit to settle in to his role. Pushing him too hard too fast will only make him dig in his heels. Or worse, it might make him give up the whole venture as too embarrassing and Tobirama’s cock has already declared that this very much needs to happen.  
When his partner scrambles up on to all fours to obey Tobirama slides to the edge of their mattress, one hand patting his thighs in commanding invitation. He is thrilled by the weight that pressing itself across them with no further question. It’s a little hard to believe at times that so much fire bends to his will so easily and he takes a moment to reward such compliance with a few light caresses, tracing the shape of the buttocks before him to feel how tensed his partner is, this time with anticipation.  
Such thin trousers he is wearing. Tobirama wonders if he even considered that something like this would happen or if he knows how exposed he’s left himself with a single layer of cotton to protect his skin. Next time there will be no layers to protect him.  
Tobirama raises one hand. It’s a shame he won’t see that pale bottom turning pink for him but lack of experience led him to forget the step of undressing. A note to remember for the future.  
His hand comes down on one cheek with a resounding smack and the immediate moan that is dragged from Madara’s throat sets his blood racing in his veins. 

Feeling the sting from that blow is humiliating in the best possible way and before that moment Madara hadn’t even _realized_ any good could come from humiliation. They’ve done this previously in some fashion, light swats in the heat of their coupling, pain turned erotic and his mind not even entertaining it as a possibility for punishment.  
If he’d given it any thought he would’ve expected to be tied to the bed. His lover had mentioned it once at the cusp of orgasm and the image still floats to the top of his fantasies when he sneaks off for a quick session alone.  
The second smack hits harder, cutting through his thoughts and jolting him forward into the firm thighs he’s bent over. An unexpected outcome this may be but all he can do is moan louder as the third hit echoes around them, not a single complaint occurring to him amidst the shameful haze of arousal coming over him besides that maybe next time they should try this with nothing between that punishing hand and his skin.  
Next time. Gods he hopes they will do this again.  
He lets his head hang, hair falling around him to block out the light, wishing he could rut forward onto the leg he’s bent over but knowing better than to do so. Right now his pleasure is in his prince’s hands, his body _Tobirama’s_ to command. Though he is certain any further punishment from stealing any pleasure now would be worth it, it _excites_ him to stay still and take what is given, take the punishment he’d personally asked for.  
By the time Tobirama sees fit to stop his ass is sore and the front of his undergarments damp from leaking. A hand soothes back over his abused rump, not an apology. It feels like an assurance, like he’s done well.  
Why that simple touch gives him pride, he doesn’t know. It gives him courage as well and he shakes enough hair out of his face to see Tobirama again, finding his expression just as stern as before but eyes alight with desire. It’s still a little embarrassing how breathless he already is, though less so when his lover is so clearly aroused as well.  
“Thank you.” He’s not sure why he says it, what possesses him to do so beyond simply thinking it the correct thing to say. The pleased glint in ruby eyes tells him it is, at least.

There simply aren’t words to describe the heady rush of lust and power that crashes through him upon hearing Madara _thank him_ for his punishment. It’s all he can do to keep control of himself and not simply throw the man down to rut like animals.  
“You took your punishment so well,” he praises. “We’ll see if such good behavior continues. I want you to undress for me and when you are finished you will undress me as well. Make a nice show of it, hm? And while you’re doing that I’ll decide how I want to fuck you afterwards.”  
Decisions, decisions. There are several options he can think of off the top of his head but two in particular stand out as both exciting enough that his cock twitches just imagining them and easy enough for this first dance down a new path. He doesn’t want to overwhelm his pretty phoenix and ruin everything. No, best to keep things light but easily still within his control.  
Now all he has to do is decide whether he wants Madara on his knees or on his back. Both provide equally appealing visuals. He will, of course, be tying Madara to the headboard no matter which option he goes for. He wants to see the man pulling on his restraints and knowing that his pleasure is entirely dependant on whatever mercy Tobirama grants him, wants to see what sinful noises he can drag from that mouth once he makes it clear how completely he owns the man’s body until this role play is over. A bit of light bondage should help with that. If he wanted to really leave the man helpless to pleasure he would bind all four limbs but that sort of thing is best left until they talk more about what limits they’re both comfortable with.  
Madara shuffles off his lap and stands in front of him, face red enough to be almost comical if they were in any other situation. Forcing his limbs in to casual relaxation, Tobirama leans back on both arms and lifts one eyebrow expectantly as if to ask why the show hasn’t started yet. He’s always wondered what it would be like to see a strip tease and until now he had accepted that his partner is simply too embarrassed by those things to attempt anything of the sort.  
All the better. Tobirama has discovered that he enjoys pushing the man’s comfort zone; he can’t wait to see how this latest challenge is handled. 

‘Make a nice show’ of undressing himself? That’s something far beyond his skill set, something he’s never even _considered_ doing before. Shucking off his clothes without flair is how he’s always done it; that or let Tobirama do the work, taking them off slowly and turning each button popped open into an unhealthily erotic display.  
He’s very tempted to say no. Whatever he ends up doing won’t be sexy or flattering and just the thought of being mocked for it has him chewing on the inside of his lip.  
It’s a ridiculous fear. Tobirama would do no such thing, no matter how much of a mess he makes himself. Chuckle fondly at his fumbling, laugh at his stubborn ways, perhaps tease, but never _mock_ him.  
His shirt seems an easy enough place to start, already mostly off anyway, and one roll of his shoulders lets it slip off his arms to pool on the floor. A familiar hungry gaze roams his chest, leaving fire where it touches, sending another electric spark down his spine. He might have no idea what he’s doing but knowing Tobirama’s going to enjoy himself despite that makes him willing to try.  
The pants prove to put a bit of a damper on things. Never in his _life_ has he _ever_ tripped undressing himself so _of course_ the first time it happens is when he’s trying to be sexy. It’s not made any better by the slight shake of concealed laughter and he’s very tempted to toss his undergarments right into Tobirama’s unfairly regal face. Like he would do any better.  
...he probably would.  
Grumbling under his breath about overachieving high princes determined to do everything perfectly, he gets on his knees, fingers working Tobirama’s belt loose while he puts himself back into the role of ‘guard ready to serve his kingdom and liege dutifully’. It takes a bit but he finds the mindset by the time he’s slipping the shirt off Tobirama’s arms, his prince as bare as him and more beautiful than any person or precious gem he’s ever set his eyes upon.  
Lip caught between his teeth to keep him from reaching out and touching pale skin, he steps back once more. Should he wait for a command or ask what he should do?  
A guard usually awaits his orders patiently. He settles on that, hands linked behind his back letting Tobirama lead him from there.

Either Madara is trying to kill him or he simply doesn’t understand how perfect he is. The stance he takes sets his hands behind his back and it is such a subservient way to hold his body, a position that says he is ready to serve, that it can be nothing but lewd with not a stitch of clothing on him. If Tobirama were not already hard then he would have been simply at the delectable feast laid out before him, ready and willing to be eaten up.  
His thoughts pause, rewind and replay, consider and discard. An idea for another time. Eating Madara out doesn’t fit in the plans he’s already made inside his head, although it could be interesting to see how long it would take to break him with that alone.  
“Take your position soldier,” he says instead. “I want your head on the pillow and your arms above your head, wrists crossed. Would you like to know what I’m going to do to you?”  
Pride straightens his already straight shoulders when Madara nods once, already beyond speech in his arousal. Surely he will never tire of what they can do to each other. A single step forward takes him close enough to draw one finger up the center of Madara’s chest to catch up his chin and tilt it up, dark eyes meeting his with less difficulty than he would have thought. It seems he is not the only one enjoying his character in this little game.  
“I’m going to tie you to the bedframe and you’re going to watch me fuck you as hard as I want. You will have no hands to touch and I will accept no demands from you. Whether I allow you to come or not depends on whether I am pleased with how many pretty noises you give to me.”  
He gives the man a handful of seconds to process that, knowing Madara has a tendency to go stiff with surprise, before narrowing his eyes.  
“Now, I told you to take your position. Or do you need another punishment?”  
The way his partner scrambles to do as he is bidden is extraordinarily satisfying. As much as he had enjoyed spanking him he is quite ready to move on. If he should happen to have a need for further punishments he’s sure he can make them up on the fly. Keeping one eye on the phoenix crawling across the mattress he paces across the room to the closet and disappears inside, smug to come back out and find Madara waiting for him in exactly the position he detailed. Dark eyes widen when they spot the scarves he retrieved and that makes him feel a little smug as well. He hopes the other appreciates him avoiding silk, no matter how lovely it would look against all that pale skin.  
As he makes his way back across the room and settles near the head of the mattress he resists the urge to lick his lips, not wanting to show any signs of nervousness. If he isn’t in control he might make Madara even more nervous in turn and that’s the last thing he wants.  
“Ready, soldier?”  
He only wants to give Madara the best night of his entire life. How hard could that be?

If the confidence Tobirama exudes is nothing more than a projection, he cannot tell. Not a hint of nervousness shows itself to him. Seeing his prince so sure of himself, certain of his role, helps ease the nerves still jumping under his skin.  
“Yes, my liege.” If speaking wasn’t so difficult, he would have said more. That he is prepared to serve him well, hopes his prince will find what he has to offer adequate. Filthy twists on the oaths and vows he’s already made, ready to please the man he serves any way his prince deems fit.  
The scarves are soon wrapped around his wrists and he gives them a cursory tug to test the knots. Not tight enough to hurt and given a half hour or so he could find a way out of them. Decent enough to hold him there unless he fought like a man chained in a prison, which he would most definitely _not_ be doing.  
Unless someone thought to interrupt them. An assassin, perhaps, sneaking in while he’s distracted and unable to protect his prince. Tobirama’s trained well enough he could hold off an attack and assuming he could-  
It takes near physical force to put a stop to that train of thought, shoulders and arms tense preparing for the battle only in his mind. Luck has it that Tobirama had turned away once more, reaching for the bottle of oil that had fallen off the bed. No need to make him worry something is amiss if nothing is wrong so he schools his expression, relaxing his body before Tobirama turns back to him.  
Being tied up in theory was thrilling. In practice it’s _still_ thrilling but goes against every one of his natural instincts. Trust in his partner keeps him calm. Trust that they’re both safe, that they could both say no to going further, that they both want this.  
And trust that, by the end of this, they’ll both be _thoroughly_ satisfied with the experience.  
At the first feel of cold fingers against his entrance he gasps, eyes fluttering as they glide over him. He does his best not to fidget or squirm though it’s difficult. No amount of bodily begging will rush Tobirama’s play.  
Though it _does_ occur to him… He’s supposed to do as ordered and no such order has been given on if he can move or not. Only how he should be positioned and that he’s to not remain quiet.  
Pausing his thoughts for a moment, it takes some effort to think past the teasing of wicked fingers, but he realizes that last order wasn’t given _today_. He can _assume_ his prince wants to hear him, knowing him well enough for that, but it means he doesn’t _have_ to let him.  
Feeling a small rush of defiance, he bites back the urge to moan as a single finger finally slips inside of him. If his prince wants to hear him, he’ll have to fight for it. He’ll just have to give him a good enough reason to scream.

Watching Madara’s head tilt back is like watching his body write poetry. Every angle is perfect, makes him wish he had the words to write sonnets in the man’s honor, although they would in all likeliness turn out to be dirty sonnets.  
It’s distracting enough that he almost doesn’t notice the silence that truly isn’t so unusual. He’s always had to fight to drag noise out of his partner, embarrassed as Madara is by how much he enjoys himself. Eyes narrowing, he crooks one finger to drag along the slick walls of the passage he is opening and watches again the arch of that smooth neck. Now that he is paying attention he can see the way that jaw clenches with effort, probably grinding his teeth to keep them together, and he almost hums with thought before catching himself.  
What an infuriating man he is in love with.  
“Are you misbehaving already, soldier?”  
Madara’s eyes pop open and roll down to look at him where he kneels between spread legs with a disapproving expression. His fingers slips out to trace around the man’s hole teasingly.  
“Did I or did I not just tell you that I expected pretty noises if you want me to let you come? Should I expect to take my own pleasure, then? I’m more than willing to leave you here...tied up...wanting…”  
They both know he can get out of those bindings given time and motivation but it would surely be exponentially harder to do so with Tobirama there to distract him, winding his body up again and again without the mercy of release. If that’s what it takes to teach the man to open his mouth Tobirama is more than eager to go through with it.  
He revels in the way Madara mirrors his narrowed eyes, both of them daring the other to defy them. Perhaps he hasn’t done quite a good enough job of helping his partner get out of his own head. Had he taken too long to get the scarves and let other distracting thoughts slip back in? An unwanted frown touches his lips at the thought before he pushed it away again, not wanting Madara to think he had truly displeased him. Maybe he just needs to push them back towards their little game.  
“Do I need to punish you again already?”

The flash of a frown, there and gone in an instant, makes Madara pause once more. Wanting to defy isn’t the same as wanting to displease and if staying silent, disobeying orders, would _truly_ disappoint Tobirama then he wants no part in it. Being punished when only one of them wants it would ruin their game entirely.  
But it hadn’t been disappointment that had tinted his tone. Purposely authoritative, firm, commanding. There had been _something_ else and if it wasn’t for the delicious slide of teasing fingers Madara is _sure_ he could name it. What would make his prince frown at their game if he’s enjoying himself?  
Not answering his question isn’t wise, of course, disapproving eyes narrowing further the longer he stays quiet. It’s less out of defiance and more necessity to _know_ that keeps him from speaking, distracted from his role as he-  
Ah.  
His answer’s in the question’s wording and he fights not to give a frown of his own. Perhaps Tobirama had forgotten but he _did_ say he wanted to be punished. That he had been _naughty_ and gave no guarantee that he would stop being such either. Doubting his ability to keep his guard in order simply wouldn’t do, if that’s indeed the issue.  
“If I have misbehaved, my liege, please correct my behavior.” Heat burns even hotter on his face than before, threatening to make the already breathy words shake from his embarrassment. They need to be said, however, so he continues on despite how uncharacteristically subservient they sound. “I will gladly accept any punishment you see fit to give me.”  
Not just for the pleasure does Madara hope he follows through. His mind keeps slipping away from the state of servitude needed for this and he’d always found physical examples got points across faster and more efficiently.  
Playing potentially defiant could happen _after_ he’s in the mindset of a good little soldier. Right now he’s still _Madara_ , still clinging on to his own patterns of behavior and overthinking every twitch of Tobirama’s muscles. And there’s a small chance Tobirama’s having a similar difficulty _fully_ giving in to his part as well, no matter if he’s naturally dominant.  
With a final steadying breath, he all but hurls himself mentally at his role, trusting Tobirama to help him not have to force it for long.  
“I hope to serve you well.”  
Tobirama’s pupils dilate a fraction as he sits back for a few seconds, studying him. Deciding how to proceed. Being forced to lay back and wait has his blood racing, hips hardly able to hold still now that the little contact, the little pleasure he’d had is lost.

Those words do wonders to calm the doubt riding up in him. It’s a relief to know they both want this enough to put some effort in to it - and if he weren’t about to punish the man he would absolutely have rewarded the effort it must have taken for Madara to say those words.  
“You have indeed misbehaved. Such a stubborn man. I suppose I will have to show you what will happen if you don’t obey me.”  
It isn’t hard to see the way those hips are twitching, fighting not to roll and buck in desperate need for him to continue his attentions. Watching them gives him an idea and he doesn’t bother hiding the light of triumph from his expression as he straightens and lifts himself away to cut off all physical contact between them.  
“Let me make myself perfectly clear. When I tell you that I expect noises from you, you are to let me hear _every. single. sound_. that you make. It displeases me to have you hide what is rightfully mine to hear. Now I am going to touch myself until you beg me to touch you instead and if I make myself come before you beg nicely enough then you will simply have to go without.”  
The very thought of letting Madara go to bed still hard and wanting makes him internally cringe with sympathy at the same time that it gives him a rush of power. He wonders if Madara would follow through on the order or if he would be a naughty little boy and touch himself under the covers once he was the only one left awake. Picturing that and the possible punishments he might give for further disobedience leaves him in just the right mood to lean away from his partner and take himself in hand.  
Getting off to his own touch is hardly how he pictured this going yet having Madara’s hot eyes on him watching his every movement certainly does help things along. It’s easier than it should be to make a good show of it, as well. His hips rock gently with the motion while he his slides up and down the full length with deliberate slowness, gliding easily thanks to the lotion lingering on his fingers. Letting his head fall back exposes his throat and the barely visible fade of a love bite left over from a week or so before when Madara found himself particularly enthusiastic.  
“Ah, it feels so good,” he moans openly. “So very good. Only you touch me better but I simply cannot allow such naughty fingers on my body.”  
What he wouldn’t give for a naughty mouth though.  
But that isn’t the goal he is working towards; he wants to be inside Madara, wants to drown in the heat he calls home and drive them both wild, wants to fuck the man until he is helpless with pleasure and crying out with every thrust.  
Gods he hopes he doesn’t have to come across his own fingers but damn if he doesn’t feel like it might be close. 

Watching Tobirama work himself is a delicious torture. Hair falling like strands of silver silk as he throws his head back, moaning unabashed as he grips himself harder. Leaning back on one hand while his back arches into the touch, hips rocking slowly, eyes fluttered closed. The way those clever fingers twist to collect and slather precome down his cock breaks a pitiful whine out of Madara, his own abandoned arousal heavy where it lays against him.  
Only once has he ever begged this erotic creature to fuck him and never in as many words. It had taken being hyper-sensitized over his rebirth and the discovery of a kink to rip the plea from him, hair pulled taut like a leash as he was bent to Tobirama’s will.  
A finger. A single finger and harsh treatment of his rear and he already _knows_ he’s going to break soon. How and what exactly that break will mean he has no way of knowing, all he knows is that every sinful second of watching those long fingers wind up and down what he so desperately _needs_ inside of him is another second spent longing for the words and courage to let his pride go.  
Ending their session like this, Tobirama spilling over his own hand, leaving him writhing without release, is _far_ from how he wants it. Logically he knows he could simply finish himself off after, spend some time in the bathroom or simply take himself in hand when the other slips off to sleep but even the thrill of disobedience that would give him wouldn’t be _nearly_ as satisfying as getting what he wants now.  
He wants to be fucked. To be stretched open around that thick cock and helpless, to be filled to the brim with hot seed and come after his prince gives him permission.  
“Please…” It’s little more than a whimper and if Tobirama hears him he doesn’t deem it worthy of a response, more interested in his own hand and pleasure than in the barely audible plea. As if to show him how truly pitiful a sound it was, Tobirama’s head falls back with another moan, loud and wanton and entirely the sort he’s used to hearing only far into an intense round of lovemaking.  
Oh, how he wishes for something, _anything_ to take some of the pressure away. Fingers on his sweet spot, a tongue on his cock, a _mouth_ , even a blanket to rut against would be better than the cold air, than the breathy gasps that only make the ache of arousal worse.  
“Gods, please, I don’t want- I want…”  
An unconscious tug of his wrists, a desperate attempt to reach and grasp his desires, has him swallowing thickly in realization.  
It doesn’t _matter_ what he wants. Madara can want and need and beg until his voice is hoarse but there’s no guarantee his prince will listen, no guarantee he’ll get even a moment of pleasure beyond being allowed to watch Tobirama in the throes of his own. And a good soldier wouldn’t _dare_ make any demands that wouldn’t have _his lord’s_ interests at heart, his lord’s wants and desires at the root of his requests.  
Knowing what he should do doesn’t make it easy to start but with each syllable it gets a little easier.  
“Please, my liege. Make use of me. Gods, _please_ , fuck me I-” a shuddering breath as he meets Tobirama’s gaze, both glazed over with lust - “I’ll be good. Please.”

“Will you now?” Tobirama slows his hand and forces his hips in to stillness. He may be in charge but his own pleasure can wait for now; there are better things to come.  
Assuming a thoughtful expression he lifts the fingers wet with his own precome and traces one of them along the underside of his bottom lip, eyes tracing down Madara’s body to take in the full picture of his straining desperation and hopes that the motion hides the way he needs to take a moment. He hadn’t expected quite how hard those words would hit him once they finally came - and he had known they would come. Whether they would be sufficient for him to stop what he was doing he hadn’t known but he had hoped and Madara has not disappointed. He never does.  
Leaning forward shifts his weight so that he can trace one hand up the inside of the thighs spread around him, feeling the muscles shift and jump under his touch, and he takes his time inspecting Madara as one might when passing judgment.  
“I suppose I can be convinced to give you one more chance if you promise to be very, very good.” He bits back a smirk at the frantic nod he gets in response. “We’ll see about that. Now, we’ll try this again and if you keep those pretty sounds to yourself again then I’m just going to have to stop and find my satisfaction elsewhere.”  
Needing a little more lubricant now that his fingers have started to dry, he reaches for the bottle and portions out just a little bit more than necessary. When he sinks one of them back in to Madara’s hole without warning the extra oil makes a lewd noise that would have been more amusing than arousing if they weren’t sinking their way deeper and deeper in to the scene he is working hard to create. He can’t bother to pay attention to that, however, when his partner covers the sound with a moan that is just quiet enough to be obvious how he fights with himself not to hold it back.  
Good enough - for now. Tobirama sinks his finger in deeper and curls it before drawing it back out slowly. By the time he presses himself inside he hopes to earn himself a bit more volume but he won’t stop if it doesn’t come.  
After all, he’d only asked for sounds. He never specified how loud they need to be. It wouldn’t be fair to punish Madara for something he was never asked to give. 

The few minutes absent of touch had done nothing to calm him. If anything he’s more keyed up than before, eyes rolling back as Tobirama presses one finger into him at a slow, maddening, _heavenly_ pace. After being left empty any part of his prince inside of him is perfect, any pleasure granted a gift from the divine, and Madara struggles to keep his hips from pushing onto the single digit reaching deeper into him.  
Maybe he could’ve gotten away with moving. It’s possible Tobirama wouldn’t consider anything wrong with that, since he’d not been given an order either way. But not enough time has passed between his latest punishment and gaining the right to pleasure once more, not _nearly_ enough for him to test the waters and potentially lose the approving gaze sending electricity up his spine.  
Tobirama’s studying him. Watching the way his finger disappears into his entrance. How his arms occasionally jerk against his binds when he presses dangerously close to his prostate. The volume of his gasps and moans raises ever so slightly at the attention, knowing his every reaction and movement is being judged and analyzed making him want to prove himself worthy.  
A second finger joins the first without warning, his back arching off the bed, heel digging into the mattress as a curse morphs into a moan. The pace is still infuriatingly slow and briefly he’s tempted to beg him to go faster. It’s a thought that barely has enough time to touch his mind before it’s discarded with a self reminder that he has no control here, no right or authority to demand Tobirama to give him any more or less than what his prince gifts him. Just to be sure the reminder sticks, he pulls down hard enough to make the scarves dig into his wrists, not enough to even cut off circulation but more than enough to send a new wave of thrill and excitement through him.  
He’s at his prince’s mercy. At his command, at his service, and he’s more than ready to let those two wicked fingers work his insides until he passes out if that’s what it takes to please Tobirama.  
That being said, he breathes a sigh of relief when a third presses in alongside the others, fully prepared to spew nonsensical thanks at the blissful feeling of _almost_ being full enough.  
His celebration is cut short by a wicked glint in ruby eyes, and he has just enough time to backtrack his actions in his thoughts, to make sure he hasn’t accidentally done something to displease his liege, when a quiet shout is torn from him, an onslaught of pleasure as his prostate is all but abused suddenly and without mercy.  
Muscles tense, thighs trembling, it’s impossible to _breathe_ let alone think of why he shouldn’t give in to the burning need building higher and higher. It’s an echoing thought of a firm command that has him biting his lip, trying to hold back but an instant later having to release the skin trapped between his teeth lest he deny access to the sounds he’s supposed to be making.  
He’s close, dangerously so, and he doesn’t want this to end yet, no where close to wanting it to end. It’s not just his own desire to keep going that has him choking out a plea, knowing that it wasn’t explicitly stated but very much understood that he isn’t allowed to just yet, since Tobirama had mentioned it would be his choice to decide whether Madara’s allowed to come at all.  
“M-my liege, if you do that I’ll- I can’t- _oh gods_.” Never in his life did Madara think he’d ever beg for his lover to stop, but both having to give in to the pleasure to let loose whatever wanton sound wanted to burst forth _and_ resist it enough to not spill untouched is proving to be too difficult to handle on his own.

Later when they are both calmed down enough to talk about what worked and what didn’t in this little experiment he _might_ be able to put his pride down for long enough to admit that he’s allowed himself to get just a little carried away. In the moment now he grins as though it has been his plan all along to ride the edge and pull away. He worries again for a moment about doing too much, overwhelming instead of providing pleasure to get lost in, but when he pulls his fingers away Madara does nothing but melt against the sheets and pant for air. There are no signs of wanting to stop.  
Tobirama is grateful. He’s not sure what he would do if he were asked to stop now. Perhaps combust, perhaps come on the spot in a very telling loss of control. One thing is for certain: he’s not going to perform half as well as Madara is now when it is his turn handing the reins of control over to another. His phoenix is doing beautifully and he couldn’t be more proud.  
“We wouldn’t want the fun to end so soon, would we?”  
Both hands trace the length of Madara’s legs before moving up to smooth across his belly and chest, allowing them both a moment to calm down enough that he won’t do just that when he pushes inside this gorgeous man. In a fit of generosity he bends enough to lay gentle kisses in the wake of his fingers. The skin under his lips tastes salty from the sweat but it carries the same smoky undertone that Madara’s skin always does and he can feel his cock twitching impatiently.  
“See how much better it is when you behave for me? And you have been behaving. You’ve been such a good little soldier for me, following orders so well. It’s good to let those noises out so I know that you’re enjoying yourself.” He almost follows his words with a wink but that feels like laying it on too thick. As naturally confident as he is, even he sometimes struggles with how to portray himself properly. Emotions are always sticky; communicating those emotions to others will always be more so. Right now he wants to convey how proud he is, how pleased, how achingly aroused by his partner’s performance. He’s well aware that, despite being the one that _appears_ to be in charge, a dominant’s job is actually to make certain the submissive is safe and pleasured and gets exactly what they need. Madara needs to let go. It’s Tobirama’s job to help him do that.  
When he’s certain neither of them will lose their head too soon he curls his fingers under the knees to either side of him and folds them up, laying them over his shoulders while he shuffles himself in to position with - hopefully - minimal awkwardness. Madara’s breath hitches and he’s not sure if it’s for the cock he pressed to the man’s entrance or for the heated look he gave in tandem.  
“Now, I’m going to fuck you and I want to hear how much you appreciate what I give you. I want the other side of the castle to hear you screaming my name, is that understood?”  
He waits just long enough for a breathless answering stutter before pushing forward in to heavenly heat. 

Nothing could compare to this. The feeling of being filled inch by blessed inch, slowly, steadily, his prince pushing home. It leaves him gasping mere moments after being breached, fingers wrapping around the scarves to hold on to the last threads of himself lest he find himself lost forever to the feel of that cock stretching him open, the hands holding his legs firmly in place, the eyes leaving scorch marks as they roam his body unashamedly.  
Oh, but what a way to go that would be.  
It’s a greatly appreciated torture when Tobirama pauses, buried to the hilt. Whether it’s because he needs a few moments or believes Madara needs them he can’t say but it gives him time to breathe. Time to feel whole and complete, connected in a way he’s only allowed Tobirama to be with him. Time that Tobirama takes to shift his hips this way and that, not moving to pull out quite yet, seemingly to feel the tight passage squeezing around him.  
He can’t help the whine that escapes him when Tobirama finally starts to pull back. Even knowing he won’t pull out all the way doesn’t stop Madara from clenching around him, doing his best to keep him deep inside while also desperate for the promise of delicious friction. The fingers on his legs tighten along with the corners of Tobirama’s lips, and Madara spares a second of awed thought to how phenomenal his partner’s self control is to keep his movements smooth even then.  
When it’s just the tip of his cock left inside, head tugging at the ring of muscles, he pushes back in with a single languid roll of his hips, the room filled with dual gasps and moans from the both of them. He sets the pace from there, not quite sluggish but entirely unhurried, taking his time to enjoy the body laid out for him.  
The look of heady lust and pleasure on his prince’s face is enough to have Madara preening, knowing he’s doing well. Something in him begs to do even better, to not just be good but to be _perfect_ for his prince, to go above and beyond the expectations laid out for him.  
“ _Tobirama_.” It’s far from screaming his name like he’d been told to. No one standing at the outermost door to his quarters would even hear him, let alone in any other wing to the castle. The approving shift of hips to brush teasingly against his prostate tells him it’s a good start anyway and leaves his thoughts scrambling, dark eyes flickering as they desperately search Tobirama’s face.  
What he’s looking for, he’s not sure, but he must have found it, any and all thoughts of insubordination or defiance left far behind him in the overwhelming desire to make Tobirama proud and pleased. Wanting him to truly hear how much he appreciates what his prince is giving him. His words come in stuttered gasps, for once not from embarrassment, simply from the physical exertion of trying to speak while being fucked slow and senseless.  
“Tobirama, _fuck_ , feels good. Perfect. Love feeling you inside of me, feeling your cock fill me. I want, gods, want to be good for you.”

Those beautiful words nearly undo all of the control he is clinging to. If he is honest he expected a few moans, some gasping, a scream or two if he did particularly well at bringing the other man far enough out of his own head. At most he had expected a few broken words. But this? This is so far beyond his expectations. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his eyes fall closed as he listens to Madara babbling such sweet filth.  
“You _are_ being good, such a good little soldier.” The shiver of Madara’s body around him almost washes the rest of his words away but he holds strong to give the rewards he promised. “Such an excellent performance deserves something in return; I do believe you’ve earned the right to come. Would you like that?”  
Madara babbles on to tell him exactly how much he would like that while Tobirama holds the thighs in his grip just a little bit tighter, waiting just a few more seconds to revel in the all the lewd thoughts Madara keeps locked away inside his head where he is usually too embarrassed to share them. Getting to hear them now he thinks that it has definitely been worth the wait. Only his own mental fortitude keeps him steady as he adjusts the angle of his hips at last and slams forward against the prostate he has been deliberately avoiding.  
As he’d known it would, the new wave of sensations leaves his partner breathless and beyond words - but to his surprise they pick up again after only a few thrusts. He’s so pleased that he feels merciful enough to keep the angle. The intention had been to tease, finding the angle and losing it several times just to drive them both higher and higher, until the tight clench of the muscles around him made him realize just how close they both are.  
There really isn’t time now for orgasm denial, not when they are both ready to fall over the edge at a moment’s notice. He sets the thought aside and adds it to the ever-growing list of things for them to try out later.  
“I’m so proud of you, love, you’ve done so well for me tonight. You can keep it up, I know you can. Just one little scream. Maybe two. Let me hear how good it feels to be mine. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you like this again.”  
He’s not even sure anymore what exactly he would define as a scream. A wordless shout of pleasure? The cry of his name at full volume? Begging and pleading until the words echo off the high rafters of their rooms and linger for days? Any and all of those would count, he thinks. When they both have a little more experience with this and it becomes a little easier to pull Madara out of his own head, then Tobirama will be able to be a little more specific with his orders and still feel confidant that he isn’t asking too much.  
The rhythm of his thrusts speeds up a little while he imagines all the things he can have his partner do for him and the ways he can bend and control and _fuck_ and _please_ the man below him. At the end of the day his greatest pleasure is in pleasing Madara. That they both find pleasure in this game of dominance only makes it all the more fun.  
Madara stutters his way through a few more babbling promises to be good and Tobirama feels his hand twitching with the urge to reach down and wrap itself around the bobbing neglected cock between them.

Later, when Madara’s no longer lost in the throes of passionate fucking and he’s his usual prideful self again, there’s little doubt that he’ll have at least some minor difficulty reconciling this new subpart of his mind. Able to beg and plead, to spill filth unbridled with no thought of shame or decency.  
At the moment that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters beyond the beautiful nyx fucking him into the sheets, the ties holding him in place, and the edge of pleasure he’s oh so close to being pushed over.  
It’s hard to tell if his own babble makes sense or not, stringed along syllables more background noise to the pulse in his ears, the blissful empty static of his mind. His arms ache from holding the position so long, cock almost painfully hard from neglect, and it’s just enough of a reminder that he’s earned his reward to focus his pleas once more.  
Not just his own pleasure, his own release. The stutter of Tobirama’s hips is telling, fingertips digging into his thighs, jaw just slack enough to be noticeable. His prince is racing towards that same edge along with him and the thought alone of being rewarded with Tobirama’s hot seed coating his passage is enough to gasp out his original desire to be so filled with that essence he tastes it.  
“ _P-please_ , Tobirama, come inside me. I want to-” A particularly harsh thrust cuts him off, his cries just shy of shouting, descending back into garbled pleas that he’s been good, that he’s so close, _so close socloseplease_.  
Mercy is a firm grip on his cock, a stroke from root to tip, and he’s shouting his release mere moments later.

Release shatters him, shatters the dominant persona it is only too easy for him to slip in and so yet so hard to maintain while his blood is searing through him and fireworks burst behind his closed eyes. It’s a pity he can’t force them open to watch but Madara’s helpless cries are more than enough. Pride and triumph and arousal all mix together in a heady cocktail that leaves him reeling even before he finally allows his body to fall still, one hand still languidly pumping the phoenix below him just to feel that clenching body squirm from side to side. He continues until Madara’s pleas rise an octave too high and then he too is allowed to rest.  
When finally he is able to peel his eyes open an aftershock of lust rips through him at the sight of the mess he’s created. Madara looks absolutely destroyed by their activities, legs jerking rhythmically while the rest of him has collapsed down on to the mattress with a finality that says he won’t be moving anytime soon. It’s a good thing the day has ended for both of them.  
Gods willing there will be no emergencies at least until they have found a few hours of rest to recover from the utter bliss they have built for themselves. Tobirama forces his lungs to open for a deep breath and calms the racing of his own heart as well as he can. Everything about what they have just done has blown his expectations out of the water in the best way, his mind already racing ahead to plan for next time.  
Because there definitely needs to be a next time. He has already decided this, certain that Madara will agree.  
First, however, he needs to properly finish this time. No matter how good his lover is he’s fairly sure the man just doesn’t have the fight right now to remove himself from those restraints and being trapped like that all night would be hell on his shoulders. They’re probably already sore anyway.  
It is with great reluctance that Tobirama slides himself out of Madara’s warmth, soothing away the piteous whine his partner gives in protest by tracing his palms up and down whatever skin he can reach until the sounds fade away. Then he crawls up the mattress on shaking limbs and unties the scarves, gently bringing the trapped limbs down to a more comfortable position, rubbing them carefully to encourage the blood flow back to normal. Once he’s sure there are no accidental injuries he crawls back to the other end of the mattress and fetches a cloth.  
Murmurs of praise and love drip continuously from him as he works, his voice calm and low, making certain his partner knows how good he was and how amazingly he performed, how proud Tobirama is of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can remember being young and overhearing the older guards loudly discussing their lewd adventures with the maidens from a nearby village, unaware that their prince was listening in to their private yet educational chatter. If memory serves then he believes the aftercare to be equally as important.  
Hopefully tomorrow his brain will clear enough to remember why. For now all he knows is that he needs Madara to feel as comfortable and safe as possible and that means something different now while they come down than it did in the moment when his role was to remain irrevocably in charge.  
Finally - _finally_ \- he allows himself to fall in to the mussed covers and pull them over Madara’s body, fitting his own around the other man like a puzzle piece slotting in to place. Sex is wonderful, fantastic, mind-blowing, and yet it will never quite amount to the quiet contentment of lying in peace with Madara wrapped up tight in his arms and knowing that nothing will ever take him away.  
“I love you,” he whispers, pressing kisses along a jaw opened wide with a yawn. “You were perfect, just as I knew you would be.”

There hasn’t been a single second of doubt in years that Tobirama loves and treasures him. Being assured as much now still soothes him in a way difficult to put to words, steady arms pulling him close and keeping him there, whispered affections and assurances that everything he’d done had been good and right easing him back into himself again.  
A part of him wants to return the words and let Tobirama know exactly how much he had enjoyed that extremely intense round of love-making (though it can hardly be called that; as much as it had been a show of love and trust, even he can’t call it anything less than unadulterated _fucking_ ) but he finds any attempt to speak quickly cut off by jaw cracking yawns.  
Talking can come later then. Maybe tomorrow when he has the energy to think past the blissful hum of post-coital bliss and mushy cuddles. Instead of responding to the praise he gathers up all his remaining energy to catch one of those hands and guide it to his hair, silently demanding to be pampered as he turns to liquid wax and all but forms a mold of the nyx he’s pressing so tightly against.  
Fingers tugging gently through his hair only makes fighting off sleep harder, the pleasant warmth of being wrapped up in a cocoon of limbs and blankets a physical lullaby in his exhausted state. But not a single valid reason to stay conscious manages to float its way through his mind and he gives in with a content sigh, certain without even a flicker of doubt that he’s safe, that he’s where he belongs and always will belong. At Tobirama’s side, in his arms, with nothing a single person in the palace, kingdom, or entire world could do to change that.

With an indulgent smile Tobirama presses one more kiss to his beloved’s brow and then lays down his head to close his eyes for the final time that day. It’s a bit early still but they have both earned their sleep. Tomorrow he will gently tease that he is owed at least two declarations of love to make up for being denied one now and he will enjoy the blush that no doubt will spread across Madara’s cheeks.  
Right now he allows his body to go loose, his thoughts to scatter, and he welcomes tomorrow with the same joy that he now greets every day. One more day of walking freely at Madara’s side instead of hiding in the shadows, what more could a man ever ask for?


End file.
